


Out of the Blue

by tellmesweetlittlelies



Series: It's Better to Burn Out Than Fade Away [2]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 261,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesweetlittlelies/pseuds/tellmesweetlittlelies
Summary: High school and beyond AU: Jax and Tara have a lot of decisions to make regarding their future; is there a way to pursue their dreams without losing sight of each other and what's truly important? Picks up nearly 2 years from where Into the Black left off.





	1. Prologue

**I own nothing you recognize**

"_God,_ I don't ever want to leave here," Tara groans into a cloud of smoke, flopping back dramatically and letting her head land on Jax's stomach. It's a rare warm afternoon for this time of year and they'd taken a ride out to the willow on the Wahewa reservation that had become their 'spot'… one of many, actually, but on nice days like today it had become a favorite for relaxing on a blanket to smoke up, do homework (mostly at Tara's request, though Jax preferred writing), make out (which inevitably led to lengthy bouts of the intense sex Jax had long since expected to become routine but somehow never had), or just talk about any and everything. Tara had finished the joint Jax had handed her seconds ago and flicked the remaining twist of paper away before leaning against him; actually, she'd sort of knocked the wind out of him momentarily- not that he's complaining because she'd been taking his breath away in some way, shape or form since she'd come back to Charming two years ago.

Jax surveys his girlfriend fondly from his vantage point several inches above her; her eyes are closed, her lashes black smudges against those high cheekbones- creamy white save for the light flush inevitably brought on by the weed and the unseasonably warm afternoon. He lets his eyes travel further to her plump lips and he knows exactly what he'd find there if he were to lean down and cover them with his own; Tara had once sat through one of Gemma's more misguided attempts at providing her with a mother figure- a makeup lesson straight from the Queen of SAMCRO- and he'd nearly fallen over when she'd reentered his living room with heavy black eyeliner and dark, burgundy lips. True to form, though, Tara had graciously thanked his mother, waited until she went to her garden club meeting, and wiped off most of the makeup. She'd taken to wearing a little bit on special occasions- not that there were all that many in Charming- but for the most part, his girl's this beautiful all on her own.

With a slight smile, Jax gives in to instinct and curls at the waist to drop a kiss on her lips. As usual, though, a peck isn't enough and he can't resist tracing them with his tongue and sucking her lower one into his mouth; mid-kiss, he notes the lingering smokiness and the faint hint of chapstick- _cherry today_, he thinks- that he's come to expect and sends up a silent thanks for the absence of the waxy, gooey lipstick or gloss that had been present on the lips of every other girl he'd kissed. Not that there had been that many; some time after Tommy's death, he'd found himself unable to allow himself that closeness with anyone and had developed a sort of blowjob complex, one that had quickly dissipated when Tara had returned to Charming and completely knocked him off his feet. She's just tugging at his lower lip with her teeth- and his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight- when a voice breaks into his thoughts.

"Yup. Still here. Still not into watching." Jax is reluctantly reclaiming his lip- and dropping another feather-light kiss on the upper bow of Tara's- when he hears a soft thud, swiftly followed by Donna's response.

"Stop it, Opie. It was, what, a _week_ ago you caught me telling Tara I hoped we'd keep the passion like they have, and then felt the need to prove it?" Then, Tara's response, still breathy enough to send residual sparks of interest southward- Jax grits his teeth and wills away the hard-on that had made itself known at the sound- floats into the afternoon, her eyes still closed against the warm sun.

"Yeah, the two of you made me blush…" Her voice trails off as Jax skims the back of a finger down the vee of her t-shirt, following the path he's watched her blush spread a thousand times in the past couple years; he bends again, briefly, to whisper in her ear.

"Thought_ I_ was the only one that could make you blush." She _does_ color at this, and Jax smirks in satisfaction as he watches the rosy pink hue fill in the invisible trail he'd marked seconds earlier. Ope snorts.

"If there's anything on the face of this planet that can still embarrass you, Knowles, it ain't a little kissing and you know it." Christ, Jax doesn't know whether to laugh or defend his girl's honor… but he knows as well as anyone that he and Tara aren't all that shy when it comes to the PDA, and Ope's been harassing them about it for years. He settles for chucking a nearby clod of grass in his general direction, which Opie easily ducks. Donna rolls her eyes and angles her head upwards, a soft smile spreading as Opie closes the distance between them.

"Well _I _think they're adorable, and I meant what I said last week, about us." she whispers against his lips.

"What about what you said last _night_?" Opie returns, a wicked grin crossing his face, and Jax averts his eyes to shoot a knowing look at Tara, who's grinning too and gazing up at him. He's happy his friend is happy, and even though the guy will never freely admit it, he knows Ope's pleased his two childhood best friends seemed to have found their center. That first few months after Tara's return had been nothing short of insane, what with her father's fall, the attempts on JT's life leading up to the accident that had almost killed him, the shit with Clay…

Jax closes his eyes briefly. All the other shit had been bad enough, but aside from his father's accident, the hardest to stomach had been the unwanted history he'd learned about Clay, Gemma, JT, and that Irish woman_. Maureen_, he has to remind himself, _she has a name and so does her kid- Trinity. Your sister. Get used to it, Teller._ He'd been trying, he really had, but it's been fucking hard accepting something- some_one_\- he's had no interaction with besides a glimpse at a photo here and there. Even after the whole shit storm had died down between his parents- Christ, that's something he can't think about right now, not if he doesn't want to… _No. Not now._ He can already see Tara's expression changing, her intuition zeroing in on what she can undoubtedly read in his eyes just as easily as he can read hers, and her hand reaches up to cup his cheek.

"What is it, baby?" Her voice is soft, filled with concern, and Jax curses himself silently for letting his overactive mind wander and cast a shadow on what's been a fucking perfect day so far. He focuses, reminds himself that she'd been the one to see him through all of it, and she's here, now, just like she's always been except for that stretch of seven years right after her mom died. And whatever happens next, he's just as certain she'll be by his side to face it with him; with that thought, Jax smiles and turns his head sharply to brush a quick kiss against her hand before settling back against the tree.

"Nothin', just thinking about what a goddamn hypocrite Ope is, since the two of them ain't shy around _us_, either." Jax says this loud enough for Opie to hear, though his friend doesn't pull away from Donna for a good several seconds, just flashes an overly large middle finger in Jax's general direction.

"Ain't just us and you know it," Opie says gruffly, finally extracting himself from Donna and leaning back on his elbows. "That's forced to watch you two be all sickeningly sweet, I mean." Donna snickers at this and shifts so that she's leaning back, hands braced behind her, bumping Opie with her shoulder.

"Yeah, you're probably the reason Principal Morgan added 'No PDA' to the cafeteria rules. Not that we're ever in there. And not that it will matter next semester anyway…" Donna seems to catch herself, then, and lets her voice trail off, but it's too late- Opie's face is already darkening, and Jax groans internally.

Ever since he'd told Ope his plans for the second half of their senior year, it had become a point of contention. Granted, the conversation hadn't exactly gone smoothly, but a the time, Jax had been more focused on venting his frustrations with JT than breaking the news gently to his friend, and Ope hadn't taken it well. _Christ._ Jax runs his hands through his hair in frustration and then allows his head to drop back against the tree. If anything, the conversation with his father had been even more rocky than the one with Ope a few weeks later.

* * *

_Jax slammed his locker door closed for the second-to-last time as a junior- hell, as a student at CHS as far as he was concerned- and leaned against it with a heavy sigh. Three goddamn years he'd spent in this place, learning shit he'd never have the opportunity or the necessity to use after he finally walks out of these halls for good. Geometry. US History. Chemistry. All completely useless if you asked him- not like he'll need to remember the Pythagorean theorem to fix a bike, or know who Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were to hold the gavel; he also doubted anyone he knew besides Tara will ever find the need to recall shit about noble gases. And Government… he'll learn all he'll ever need to know about the ins and outs of that when he's sitting at the Reaper table with his father and his brothers, so why JT seemed to think Jax needed to sit in some classroom and be preached at by some hack that had probably never experienced anything even close to a Mayhem vote was beyond him._

_The warning bell rang, but since he'd been smart enough this year to sign up for 8th_ _ period PE/Study Hall, Jax made no move to head to class even though the stream of students that passed him grew more frantic by the moment. He'd taken to cutting 8_ _th_ _ period on Study Hall days and meeting up with Ope about the second week of school, and it was a Study Hall day; however, Ope had taken off early to spend the first few weeks of the summer with Mary out in Moreno. Jax, on the other hand, had one more final exam to sit through, but he wasn't planning on having to show up for it; not after the conversation he was about to have with his father._

_As he walked out of CHS for- hopefully- the last time, Jax tried to ignore the feeling that he was somehow leaving Tara behind… even though he was if you wanted to be literal about it; she was still in there, somewhere, poised to ace some final she'd been preparing for the last two weeks. Donna had promised to give her a ride home afterward, which left him a relatively small window to talk to his father at TM. Not that she didn't know he'd been considering this, but he was anxious to have JT's blessing and a solid plan in place the next time it came up._

_Jax sat back on the Dyna, sighed as he clipped on his helmet, and fired it up. After their initial conversation regarding his plans for his senior year, Tara had made it clear she thought he was making a big mistake._

"You have so much potential, Jackson. I know you want to follow in your father's footsteps, and I get that, I do. But there's plenty of time to do that; you have your entire life to be SAMCRO. Why would you sell yourself short?"

_A GED, she'd argued, would still take time to get, and wouldn't look as good on a job or college application as a high school diploma. He'd countered that by reminding her that he wasn't planning on having to apply _anywhere_\- he'd work at TM, prospect, and be a fully patched member by the time she graduated high school. Deep down, both of them knew that the crux of the matter was what would happen once Tara inevitably went to college and Jax gained more responsibilities within the club… but neither had the heart to bring it up- not when it seemed so far away. Until then, Jax figured, they'd make it work- she'd go to school, he'd prospect, and they'd tackle the issue of what came after high school when it arose. Right then, though, he had more pressing issues- convincing his father that education wasn't the be-all-end-all he thought it was, at the top of the list._

_JT had been in Belfast for the past couple weeks- ostensibly moving SAMCRO into the next phase of his plan to halt the gun-running up and down the West Coast- and had returned late the night before. Said plan involved a series of complex maneuvers Jax wasn't privy to, but at least JT had the full backing of his club this time, since Clay's poisonous whispers had been snuffed out._

_Since the whole situation with Clay had ended, JT had kept his lips sealed on club business, so what little Jax knew, he'd managed to learn by overhearing snippets of conversation between his parents or club members, and piecing them together like a goddamn jigsaw puzzle. It was fucking maddening, and- aside from his desire to get the fuck out of CHS and finish prospecting before Tara graduated- was at the top of Jax's list of reasons he was practically dying to prospect. So, he'd chosen his moment carefully, timed it to coincide with JT's return from Belfast. Because although he'd primarily been there to settle up club business, he'd also been to meet Trinity- _his daughter_, Jax reminds himself- for the first time, and would likely be feeling his fair share of guilt about the whole goddamn thing… and would hopefully also be much more likely to appease his only remaining son._

_It had taken months for Gemma to come to terms with the news, and even longer for Jax; Christ, he'd barely been ready to return to his parents' house after the affair itself had come to light, but then he'd found that letter and shit had spun so far out of his grasp that he hadn't talked to his father for weeks, had only returned to his house to refill his duffel bag. It was Tara who'd finally broken through his veneer of grim, barely-contained anger and convinced him to talk to JT, who- as it turned out- really hadn't been aware he'd had a third child somewhere in Ireland. It was only the knowledge that there hadn't been yet another secret, another lie- that and the eventual relaxing of the unbelievable tension between his parents, the return of the soft looks and teasing in place of the stiff conversation and awkward silences- that had thawed his feelings towards JT._

_Still, though, Jax wasn't above using this visit to further his own interests. Besides, once his father saw reason, once he heard Jax's list of proof positive that the timing was right now that the Teller family and the club are back on solid ground, there was no way the conversation wasn't going to end in Jax's favor. Especially since JT himself had laid out the one thing that had to happen before Jax could prospect- the club moving into a safer place, and nobody could argue that that hadn't happened over the past year._

_As Jax pulled into the lot, he smiled a bit at the sight of his father's Harley back in its spot at the front of the line of bikes. It had taken months of physical therapy for JT to regain the balance and strength necessary to ride- not to mention his vote at the Reaper table- and another couple for him to actually vote yes the third time Piney had brought his reinstatement to President to the table. Add in a trip to Belfast and the fact that he and his father hadn't really spent much time together lately, and… well, he hadn't had a lot of time to reflect on all of that shit, but he was glad to have his father back in place before he started prospecting, for sure._

_Kozik nodded as Jax strode across the lot, and Jax nodded in return, responding in kind to a few waves and a familiar "Ayy, Jackie Boy" that were emanating from the garage area. His father was alone in the office, and thankfully so because he had no real desire to have this conversation anywhere within earshot of his mother- at least until JT could prep Gemma… once his father himself was on board, of course._

_"Hey, Son," JT scratched his beard absently and tossed a file folder onto the desk, which was currently littered with similar folders, papers, sticky notes, and a giant Harley-Davidson desk calendar- complete with a girl in a bikini- that should have been thrown out at the beginning of the year. "Surprised to see ya here, thought ya had finals today." Jax shrugged, in what he hoped was a casual fashion._

_"Naw. Took 'em all today, and then my final period was study hall so I didn't have to stick around." JT spun the desk chair around to face him and leaned back, settling lower in the chair so he could rest his head against the cracked faux leather; he cocked an eyebrow at Jax._

_"No Tara?" Again, Jax shrugged._

_"Still takin' a test. Donna's bringing her home after they're done." JT nodded, his eyes narrowing a bit as he seemed to study Jax for a long moment before he responded._

_"Somethin' up, Jackson? It ain't like you to drop by here like this, 'specially recently." JT held a hand up to halt Jax's protests. "You ain't spent any real time talkin' to me since before Mo and Trinity happened, and you know it. If you're here, it's usually because you, Ope, Tara, and Donna are gettin' in a round or two of pool before the guys are off for the day, so I'll ask again, Jackson… what's up?" JT waited, patiently, and Jax resisted the urge to roll his eyes, looked away briefly to gather his thoughts before settling on his father once again. Determinedly, he sat on the edge of the ancient futon next to the desk and held his father's gaze. No sense in looking like a pussy, now._

"_You were right, Dad. I got shit to say." JT smirked, but it didn't last long before the rest came tumbling out of Jax's mouth like goddamn word vomit. "I'm not goin' back to school in the fall. I've been thinkin' about it all year and I just don't see what good it'll do me, not when I got the garage and the club-"_

"_No fucking way, Jackson. Didn't you listen to a goddamn thing I had to say about education? And how-"_

_"-nobody could ever take that away from me…yeah. I got it Dad. I just think it's bullshit." His father's face, usually deadly calm- even in life-or-death situations- distorted in anger and frustration._

_"Bullshit? You think it's _bullshit_, Jackson? I left school before I even had the chance to get started and there are very few things I regret more than that- only the shit I've done that's hurt you or your mother eats at me more." Jesus, if his father clenched his jaw any tighter, he'd grind his teeth to powder. The only problem was, Jax was angrier._

_"What the fuck are you talking about, Dad? You're the smartest person I know- well, maybe you and Tara- always going on about Emma Goldman, and philosophy, and Shakespeare and shit. You just started your real life earlier- went to war, started the club, met Mom, _all_ that shit." JT shook his head again._

_"No, Jackson. Everything I know I had to _fight_ for; I read book after book when I was in the Army, on the road… and being smart, having knowledge is a big part of it, yes. It's important to know the history of where we've been as a country, the history of humanity, the logic of those who know far more than me- it's how we learn from others' experiences, part of how we shape our own decisions. But the opportunities an education gives you are the_ other_ part of it- I drifted for _years_, unable to find steady work or put a roof over my head. And anarchy, that ideal, well… that was one reason, but the other was that nobody was gonna hire someone that barely finished the tenth grade. Sure, I liked bikes, knew how to maintain my own, learned along the way how to work on a carburetor, change out a muffler … but that don't mean shit to someone who just wants to hire a certified mechanic so they can keep their goddamn shop open." Frustrated, Jax raised his hands._

_"What you have is _better_ than that, Dad. You had the open road, got to live your ideals, and then when shit got real, you opened TM and didn't have to answer to anyone but yourself. That's what I want- that's _all _I want- a place at the table with you, a job at the garage, and maybe some day, open my own." His father was already shaking his head, and Jax was about to explode at the hypocrisy of it all._

_"The open road was a great time, sure. _At first_. And I told you about how I had to find another path- and quick- when you came along, but how do you think I got the money to buy TM in the first place? Illegal shit, that's how; I had to sell my soul to the devil- to the goddamn IRA- to buy this place and to keep us going. And it's taken _years_ to get out from under them- it almost killed me in the process. I want more than that for you, Son, more than running guns or dirty deals, risking your life to bring in enough cash to stay afloat, and you won't have that option if you drop out. All you'll ever have is_ this_." JT gestured at the office with one hand, pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, as if the whole thing had given him a headache. Jesus Christ, Jax had expected the preaching about getting an education; what he hadn't expected was to run into a goddamn wall. Maybe it was time to switch tacks._

_"Dad…_This_-" he gestured at the office, the garage, mirrored his father's actions from moments before "- is what I want. And it ain't just about bein' a mechanic, you know that. Since I was five, all I've wanted was a Harley and a kutte; I got the Harley, and you know I'm gonna get the kutte. All I'm asking is to get an early start on it- on the kutte, and on my life. I don't need to take Government, or Psychology, or goddamn Calculus for that. I got the guys that can teach me right here- I got the club, and I got you. Even after all the shit with Mom- with Maureen and Trinity… well,_ my_ shit- what I _want_\- ain't changed. I want to learn from the best, and I want to do it with my Brothers by my side." At this, JT lurched forward in the desk chair and dropped his head into his hands. Moments ticked by, filled only with muted clanks from in the garage and Jax's own heartbeat- louder than usual, he thought. Still, maybe the comment about Trinity had hit home- it was looking to be his only goddamn hope. At long last, JT tented his fingers, rested his chin on them, and held Jax's gaze with his own._

_"This is what you want, because this is all you _know_, Son. This is all I've been able to give you because of my own choices, and I'll own that. I ain't asking that you change who you are, or what you want out of life; if you finish school and decide that this is still what you want, I'll support that. There will _always_ be room here at the garage for you, never doubt that, and never doubt that whatever decision you make, I love you, Jackson. But this… This, I can't support. I can't- I won't- support you in eliminating all your options but one. If something happens to me- and we both know that in this life, that ain't a stretch- if something happens and we lose the business, you'll be an uncertified mechanic with a GED; there ain't a garage in the country that will take on that risk, not in this day and age. So here's what's gonna happen, Jackson- you're a minor, and I won't be giving permission for you to leave school-"_

_"I'll be eighteen a week into the school year, Dad-"_

_"-and if you leave once you hit eighteen, you won't be prospecting in my club- not SAMCRO, and not any other charter." Jax's mouth dropped open; he worked his jaw but couldn't force the words to come out, couldn't make himself voice to his father the endless protests streaming through his head- he'd waited while the club had grown more legitimate, watched as they'd slowly set up business ventures in the area, watched his father gradually work his way out from underneath the Irish Kings' influence. He'd nearly done it, nearly gotten the club back to its original form, nearly eliminated the things that were killing it, and _still_ he didn't want Jax to join? The pain of hearing his father put it into words was like a knife through Jax's heart. Then, Jax saw the flash of pain in JT's eyes, as well._

_"I'm not sayin' that because I don't _want_ you, Jackson- I know that's what you're thinking, because you said as much the last time we broached this subject. I want you to be happy, whether that's here in Charming with me, your Ma and the club, or somewhere else; whether that's as a mechanic, or an author, or a goddamn insurance salesman. But this ain't even about what _I_ want, it's about what's best for you- and for your family, one day. So, I'm sayin' it because it's the truth, it's the one exception I won't make; you _will _finish high school before you'll be allowed to prospect, and you'll at least get a mechanic certification if you want to work here at the garage indefinitely." Jax swallowed. Fuck, he couldn't believe this shit was happening- first high school and then goddamn college? His father continued, still holding him with that piercing stare._

_"I'll make you a deal, Son. You graduate and I'll let you prospect, and I know Piney will do the same for Ope; we've been talkin' about it, some. But, you got to keep your options open for what comes next. I'm assuming you discussed this with Tara?"_

What?_ Christ, what did he mean by what comes next? And Tara… they'd discussed it, some, but had mostly left things unresolved. Jax swallowed before replying._

_"Uh... we talked about it, but she doesn't know I'm here, now. I just… I figured that by the time she's done with high school, I'd be done prospecting and bringing in some money, and… We'll make it work, Dad." JT shook his head, again._

_"So what _was_ your plan, exactly? You stay here, work at the garage and go on runs, and she… does what, Son? Goes off to college somewhere and you visit her on long weekends? Stays here because you did, gets a job as a desk clerk over at the Charming Inn?"_

"No_, Dad," Jax bit, fiercely, "She deserves to make something of herself, even if that's not here in Charming, and whatever happens, we'll figure it out." Defiantly, he met his father's stare with one he hoped showed that he wasn't backing down._

_"And so do _you_, Son- you deserve to make something of yourself, do what you want with _your_ life… but you won't know what that is unless you know what your options are. So that's why the second part of our deal is this- before you decide what to do, what comes after high school for you, you're gonna take some college classes that got nothin' to do with the garage, see what else is out there. If you decide to stay on here, you can use 'em as general education credits towards getting an associate's degree and your mechanic certification. That way, you can find work anywhere, even if it ain't here. And if you decide to continue on some other path- go to a four-year college, find a job somewhere else- I'll support that, too; you'll be free to transfer to any other charter of the Sons, or go Nomad, or even go inactive, I don't give a shit. But you _will _have every opportunity I didn't, even if it means we won't be sitting at the same table." And just like that, Jax felt all the fight leave him; Christ, even if he _wanted_ to argue- plead his case, point out his father's shortcomings, his hypocrisy- it wouldn't fucking matter. JT had dug his heels in, and he'd dug them in deep- there would be no convincing him, and as the President of the mother charter, there'd be no way any of the others would go against his wishes._ Fuck_._

_"We clear, Jackson?" Jax nodded, unable to say anything else, the walls of the office seeming to close in… and suddenly, he just needed out- away from his father, away from the prospect of another year at CHS and another year away from his dream. Fuck, JT was still talking._

"…_suggest you go talk this over with your girl. She deserves to know what you'll be gettin' yourself up to next school year, and she deserves to be a part of whatever it is you decide after that, too. I know you love her, Son, and you owe her more than _we'll make it work_." Shit. As much as Jax hated to admit it, JT was right- at least about that much. Besides, nobody was better than Tara at helping him work shit through, and_Christ_ if he didn't have shit to work through._

_Jax gave his father the only thing he could manage- a tight nod- stood, and turned to take his leave; he ignored JT's silence, the shouts and catcalls from the other Sons on the lot, the bright sunlight in his eyes… All he could focus on was getting to the Dyna, riding out some of the goddamn tension the prospect of the new -yet somehow mind-numbingly familiar- path his life was taking had produced. And as he rode through the gates of TM, across town, and onto 85, he found that he had no particular destination in mind- not for this ride, and not for the rest of his goddamn life, either._

_An hour later, Jax pulled into the Knowles driveway and noted, thankfully, that Rick's Cutlass was still absent from its spot. The man had been halfway pleasant- for him- lately, but Jax still had no desire to endure some forced, stilted conversation, or watch him down his customary pint of whiskey before heading to the bar. In fact, their last conversation had been a semi-tense discussion about Tara's curfew, after which Rick had drained the rest of his liquor, tossed the bottle, then slammed the door behind him. It was something Jax wasn't anxious to repeat._

_Jax hung his helmet on a handlebar and let himself in- the house was silent, but tidy, and he'd make a bet that Tara was in her room, studying for her remaining finals. He made his way down the back hallway and pushed open the door to Tara's room; as expected, she was sitting on her bed, surrounded by papers… except, they didn't appear to be study guides. Instead, as Jax got closer, he noted brochures from Charming Community College, Lodi City College, and others; in addition, there were materials from CHS, local businesses, and countless others he couldn't even begin to guess at. And there was Tara, writing furiously in a notebook and definitely unaware of his presence; Christ, she hadn't heard the Dyna?_

"_Babe?" Tara jumped, nearly dropped her notebook before sighing in relief when she realized who was in her room- he could see her visibly relax as he closed the distance and reached the edge of her bed. Jax grinned, despite himself. "It's only me... who else you expecting to walk in your room and call you babe?" Tara shrugged, but returned his grin with a soft smile._

_"Sorry, baby, I was just concentrating, I guess." Jax nodded at all the papers- needing, somehow, to avoid the inevitable discussion about all that had happened between himself and JT for just a little longer._

_"What ya doing? I figured you'd be studying for your tests…" He trailed off, noting, for the first time, what she'd been writing in her notebook._

*summer school: Calculus, Advanced Biology, Anatomy?  
*fall classes: Anatomy?, Psychology, Government, PE/SH, Physics (2 periods), Trigonometry, ?  
*spring: Anatomy? Psychology, Physics (2), Trig  
*college (spring): Biology lab? Chemistry I?  
_  
Tara glanced up at him, then, followed his eyes to the notebook and colored, slightly. Christ, she almost seemed embarrassed- or even a little guilty. But why? Or maybe he'd misinterpreted it altogether… Then, she spoke, filled in the blanks his mind had produced, and completely fucking blew him away._

_"I… Well, I've decided to go to summer school, Jackson." And just like that, Jax could feel his visions of a carefree summer spent with her- at the swimming hole on the reservation, taking long rides in the country, making love under their willow tree- drain away. Jesus, it's as if the world doesn't fucking want him to be happy, or something… Then, he realized she'd continued speaking, "I want to get a head start on my senior year so that I can take a few college level classes in the spring, or even graduate high school early, depending." She paused a moment, studied him before continuing, uncertainly. "I mean, that way, no matter what you decide about prospecting, I'll be ready… for whatever comes next." It was her face- so flushed and uncertain, but simultaneously hopeful and begging, somehow, for his acceptance- that stopped all thoughts about the summer. It was her words- _maybe even graduate early_\- that led him to sit gingerly next to her amongst the scattered papers, an idea forming rapidly; a way to beat his father at his own game, a way to move his life forward but abide by the goddamn rules at the same time. He skimmed her list again before taking her hand in his and asking-_

_"Can just anyone go to summer school?"_

* * *

"Jackson!"

He's brought back to reality by Tara hissing his name and jabbing him in the side with a finger. Opie's standing, already, folding one of the blankets and Donna's giving him a desperate look behind Ope's back. _Christ…_

"Ope…"

"_What?"_ Opie's head snaps around, practically pinning Jax to the tree with a glare. "You need somethin'? Jax shakes his head, feeling the all-too-familiar frustration growing. Why the hell do they have to rehash this shit- _again_? And why today; why ruin what had been basically the perfect afternoon with the same shit they'd been circling around since last summer?

"What I _need _is for you to stop going all moody on my ass every time this shit comes up," Jax bites back, letting a sharp edge of irritation creep into his voice. Ope snaps the blanket and folds it again, his motions becoming more and more tense with every word Jax utters.

"Yeah, well, you're probably right. I mean, there ain't shit I can do about it now, is there? Neither of our dads will let us prospect until we graduate, but unlike you, I'm fuckin' stuck at Charming High the rest of the year, because – also _unlike _you- I got to finish this goddamn vocational shit I got roped into." Jax opens his mouth, but Opie holds up his hand. "And don't tell me any of that shit you got to say about how I'll be better off for it. It ain't that I mind the program, really- Christ, I get to spend half the goddamn day the garage next semester and I got no idea why you didn't do the same thing. But I don't even mind you graduating early, either, and I've fuckin' said that over and over again. It's just… you prospectin' without me… that ain't the way it's supposed to be. I've been told my entire life that you and I, we're born into the club, we're shoo-ins for Pres and Vice Pres, that I need to be there to support you. But if you're gonna do it without me, all of that means jack shit." Opie tucks the blanket under his arm and reaches a hand out to Donna to help her up.

"If you can't understand why I'm goddamn moody about my best friend leaving me in the dust, then you aren't much of a friend. But don't worry- I'll _get over it_, just like I always do, because what choice do I got? I'll put up with you prospecting alone, you'll put up with me bitching at you occasionally, and life will go on. You comin'?" This last bit is directed at Donna, who nods then shoots Jax and Tara an apologetic grimace as Opie stalks towards the two bikes parked in the distance before following him. Jax lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding during Ope's tirade.

"Jesus Christ…" is all he can say. Tara sits up, finally, takes his hand and draws it to her lips, pressing a short kiss to his palm before dropping her cheek into it and giving him a sympathetic smile.

"He'll get over it, baby, like he said. By the time you're both prospects, it won't matter. Or you could always just take college courses with me next semester and prospect in the summer…" Jax shakes his head in frustration.

"We've been over this, babe. I want to be done prospecting by the end of the summer, before you…" he trails off, altogether unsure how the fuck to finish that sentence. "Well, before you do _whatever it is_ you decide to do. I'm doing this for me, yes- to show JT that I can handle it- but I'm also doing it for _us_. And nobody seems to get that." Tara closes her eyes- her cheek still resting in his palm- and doesn't respond. After a moment, she stands and offers Jax her hand, pulling him up next to her. Silently, they fold the blanket, pocket the lighter, rolling papers and empty Ziploc, and make their way to the Dyna, now sitting alone on the dirt road.

Opie's words- _that ain't the way it's supposed to be_\- seem to echo in his ear all the way back to Charming.


	2. Ch 2

****I own nothing you recognize****

As nice as the weekend had been, Monday morning is its polar opposite; cold- even for this late in the year- and the rain is coming down in a deluge the likes of which Charming hasn't seen in months. Tara's pulling an oversized hoodie- one that had likely been Jax's at one point but had taken up residence in her own closet forever ago- on over her favorite Zeppelin tee when a brief snippet of a memory washes over her.

"_When its rainin' like this, my dad used to joke that it was God up there, waterin' his lawn,"_ her dad had murmured, hugging her close. They'd been at the drive-in or some place- that much is fuzzy- but she remembers being sandwiched between her parents in the front seat of the Cutlass, watching a sudden rainstorm batter the windshield. Her mom had chuckled, then, and offered her own theory-

"_Mama always said it was him taking a shower_." Tara's eight-year-old mind, logical to a fault- not much has changed, she thinks- had balked at either idea. _Everyone_ knew rain came from the clouds, she'd told them, and they'd exchanged grins before letting her go on about the water cycle, condensation, and a bunch of other things she'd learned at school. _Besides,_ she remembers thinking, _there's no way someone as big and powerful as God needed to take a shower._

Days like today, when the memories- which seem to be coming fewer and further between with each passing year- appear out of nowhere like this, she misses them the most, Tara decides; she pauses in her morning routine long enough to approach her bedroom window and draw back the curtain. _Them_, being her parents- not just her mother, but the person her father had been, back then… Or maybe she just misses them as a family, the way they'd all had their own relationships- Tara and Rick, Tara and Grace, Rick and Grace- but had sort of triangulated themselves so that Grace was the center of it all. It had been a wonderful, comfortable, loving nine years, but looking back on it now, she and her father both had relied on her mother to make them a family. Too much, obviously, considering the fact that when Grace had died, so had their family.

And that, she thinks, is what had been the most emphatic push setting her off on what had been a slow drift towards the field of medicine; the fact that once her family's guiding light- it's true North- had been ripped away, those that remained dropped into the dirt like so many seeds, left to flourish or not completely as a result of their own will. She won't be her father, someone who shrivels and dies without someone to hold him up. If she can help it, she'll do whatever she can to stop someone else from losing the ones most important to them.

Tara watches as the rain pounds the empty driveway, sending droplets back up to meet their successors and producing a frenzied swarm inches above the concrete. The Cutlass is gone, she notes, meaning that her father had decided to keep his early route- hauling God knows what for Charming Market or its various distributors- despite the fact that he'd considered dropping it. He'd been doing well, recently- always home for dinner, keeping up with bills, groceries, and some of the various small things around the house… hell, he'd even largely accepted Jackson's near-constant presence and seemed to have been making an effort to keep his temper, even in disagreements. Still, household responsibilities, work, and the occasional argument about household rules seem to be the upper limit of Rick Knnowles' fatherly instincts, and while he hasn't passed out drunk since last Christmas, he still spends his evenings bellied up to the bar over at the Hairy Dog.

She sighs and checks her watch- still nearly thirty minutes before Donna will be here, and enough time to make some coffee and grab a bite to eat. Tara shoulders her backpack and makes her way into the kitchen, dropping the backpack onto her father's chair before flicking on the kitchen light. Christ, it's dim enough to feel like evening, especially since the little light that would be making its way into the kitchen window is mostly shaded by an overgrown pine. She's dumping the remnants of her father's coffee into the sink when a series of sharp honks breaks the silence. _Donna, already?_ A quick glance out the door confirms it- Donna's waving from the relative comfort of her secondhand Cavalier- and with a shrug, Tara hurriedly grabs her backpack and does her best to dodge the worst of the rain on her way to the car.

"Hey, sorry- wasn't expecting you early this morning; you know, with the rain and everything." She's a little breathless despite the short distance, but relatively dry, miraculously. Donna shoots her a smirk from the driver's seat as she puts the car in gear. Both Jackson and Opie had opted to take early bird PE this semester- Jackson in an effort to squeeze in one last requirement for early graduation, and Opie to free up his afternoons for the vocational/work study thing he's been doing at Piney's behest- and when the weather's nice enough to hold class outdoors, she and Donna would occasionally take off a little early to see if they could catch a glimpse of the guys on the football field, the track, or- once- the back asphalt, playing foursquare.

Donna's expression is evidence she's also recalling the sight of Opie bouncing a red playground ball towards a distracted Jackson, who'd just turned his head towards a catcall Donna- to this day- won't admit had come from her lips, the ball smacking him in the side of the face before bouncing away, harmlessly. The result had been a morning of endless torment from Tara, Donna and Opie, and an adorably sullen Jackson, who'd only brightened when Tara had made it up to him in the small cluster of trees behind the school over lunch.

"God, I wish it was nicer- they start a unit on basketball today," Donna laments. Tara crinkles her forehead in confusion.

"Jesus, you'd think that would be right up Opie's alley- he's probably the only one in the school that can actually touch the rim." Donna snorts.

"Tara, I love him, but have you ever _seen _Opie try to play basketball? I mean, he's tall, and he isn't all arms and legs anymore, but he looks more out of place on a basketball court than Jax would in the marching band." They take a moment to cackle at both images, then Donna angles her head to back out of the Knowles driveway.

"Alright, so since there's no morning entertainment lined up-"

"No, no," Donna cautions in mock-sincerity, "the _official _story is that we show up to ogle them in all their masculine, athletic glory, remember?" Tara chuckles. Yeah, that's definitely the story- especially after the foursquare incident- but watching their two self-proclaimed _leaders of the pack_ play team sports is always a good time. Jackson's naturally athletic and ever since Opie had filled out he's one of the more built guys in the school, but there's just something about watching them suit up for flag football instead of a long ride…

"_Anyway_…" Donna continues, "I figured we should talk; you know, after Saturday and everything." She shoots Tara an unreadable look before continuing. "Ope isn't letting this go easy, Tara." Tara opens her mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Donna, who's smiling, sympathetically. "I know, I know. Jax has plans, and he's actually thinking about his future for once. I wish Opie would…" she drifts off, seems to lose her train of thought for a moment, then jerks her gaze back to Tara. "I just… I don't blame Jax for knowing what he wants, I guess; but I also don't blame Opie for feeling left behind, you know?"

Tara nods, grimly. Ope's made that more than clear a few times since Jackson had broken the news to him over the summer, and although they'd all gone weeks at a time without it coming up over the past few months, the subject's been there- lurking under the surface- ever since. It's just that she's got no earthly idea how to help fix things between her boyfriend and her best friend. Tara sighs, and it doesn't help clear her head any more than she'd thought it would.

"I _know,_ Donna, believe me. I… I'm sorry all of this is causing problems between them. I'm even more sorry it's hurting Ope." It's the_ truth_, Tara discovers the moment the words cross her lips. Opie's a loyal friend, even when he's unhappy with something one of them have done, and she knows that- even hurt as he is- he'll do just as he'd said he would the other afternoon at the reservation: push his hurt and anger aside until the next time it bubbles up. Donna eyes her as she makes a turn, seemingly driving aimlessly since they're headed away from CHS at the moment.

"It really is, Tare. He won't talk about it with me, just says there's no point because _what can he do about it now_, as he says, but I know the closer the end of the semester gets, the shittier he feels." Her last statement hangs in the air as they ride, neither knowing what to say. The silence stretches for a few blocks before Donna takes a shaky breath and asks with forced nonchalance- "Does Jax say what he intends to do? You know, after he prospects and shit."

Tara closes her eyes. It's something she and Jackson hadn't even really discussed; back when he'd too-casually mentioned dropping out to prospect, she'd let the disappointment wash over her in silence. Before that, she'd never allowed herself to imagine CHS without him; without his crooked grin appearing at the edge of her locker door between classes, without sneaking off to indulge in each other over lunch, without his steady support whenever Melissa and her cheerleader groupies ramped up the snide comments… but it hadn't been only that.

Dropping out meant an all-but-irreversible commitment to SAMCRO- to _Charming_\- that she'd not really allowed herself to consider, fully. Sure, both Jackson and Opie are SAMCRO Legacies, and both had steadfastly proclaimed their career goals to be a Harley and a kutte… but in the back of her mind, Tara had hoped Jackson's steadily rising grades and his ever-increasing interest in writing was a sign of some growing desire to attend college with her- or at least see a bit of the world outside Charming some day.

Still, she couldn't have said, then, that he'd taken her by surprise, and in that moment- the one in which he'd introduced the possibility of never returning to CHS- well…although she'd expressed her concern that he was eliminating all his options but one, she'd found herself unable to fully express her feelings on the matter much beyond that. Doing so would have meant admitting to him- to herself- that it could actually happen.

JT's edict had renewed her hope; Jax had shown up at her house the day of his talk with his father surprisingly calm- seizing instantly on the idea of graduating early. However, it had been an idea she herself had quickly abandoned in favor of an accelerated program that's going to allow her to take a few classes, volunteer or intern at a local organization, and graduate in the spring with the rest of her class- just a bit ahead of the game. The past summer and fall had been spent alternately furiously preparing for whatever was next- in the form of summer classes and extra coursework- and avoiding conversation about what, exactly, _what's next_ might turn out to be. So, she gives Donna the only answer Jackson himself had been able to give thus far.

"He keeps saying he wants to be done prospecting by the time I'm done with high school and done with whatever internship I get, even though I've told him I don't even know what that looks like, yet. For that to happen, he's got to start soon. I know Piney told them legacies can do it in nine months instead of the whole year like Kozik and Tig had to do, but even that puts him at September or so…" Donna's focus is intently on the road in front of her, but Tara can see a flicker of…_ something_… cross her face at this.

"Opie thinks that Piney's bullshitting, Tare," Donna responds steadily, her face stoic now. "He said he bets that once they get started prospecting, Piney and JT are gonna feel like Jax and Opie both need to prove themselves, probably more than any of the other guys." Now she regards Tara cautiously out of the corner of her eye. "As in… Ope thinks it'll be the full year, at least." _Jesus._

"Well that knocks out the whole first semester right there, then," Tara groans, desperately. "Why does all of this have to be so complicated? It's a motorcycle club for Christ's sake." Even as the words cross her lips, she reminds herself of how tenuous the club's position seems to be with the other charters, the Irish and whoever else they're having to stay on the right side of in order to get themselves _more legit_, as JT's so fond of saying. Of _course_ the club leadership would have to ensure that _sons _of the Sons don't appear to have been given an easy ride, so to speak. But God, it would be so much easier if things were black and white.

"Why does he want to be done early so bad, though? I mean, I have an idea, but what does he tell _you_?" Donna asks, cautiously.

"He _doesn't_, really. He keeps saying he's doing it for _us_, but neither of us know what that means, I don't think. I just finished applying to every college in the state, but realistically, I won't be able to afford any of them unless I get a scholarship and apply for financial aid. Doing the College First program Nestor told me about, plus whatever internship or job thing I wind up with is a good way to get myself noticed for scholarship shit, but none of that information will come out until spring." Donna nods, knowingly.

"My parents are willing to pay my tuition or whatever isn't covered, but my dad feels really strongly about not wasting money on a four-year university for gen-eds, you know? Unless I get a full ride somewhere, I'll probably knock most of that out somewhere around here, first." Tara drops her head onto the headrest in frustration and pushes out a breath that seems to come from the depths of her belly.

"I won't know what the fuck I'm doing in the fall until late next semester. Jackson has to take some classes at Charming Community College this spring to keep JT happy, but he wants to prospect at the same time. And when it's all over, he'll probably be in SAMCRO, I'll be… _somewhere_, and it isn't worth getting worked up about now. Not until there's a plan." Tara finishes, weakly. Donna raises an eyebrow, but doesn't look away from the road ahead; her expression isn't one of a person who believes all she's been told, but she keeps whatever thoughts she's having to herself.

Tara recognizes the next turn as the main cross street leading towards CHS, and watches Donna chew her lip as they make their way back across town. In the past couple years, she's gotten to know Donna almost as well as Opie and from the way she's biting her lip, narrowing her eyes, allowing her dark hair to fall over one cheekbone without bothering to brush it away… she's working something through. Her friend is usually one to volunteer what's on her mind as soon as it comes to fruition, but Tara recognizes this Donna that's here in the car with her now- the one that's out of her depth and trying her best to think, _really _think, about what she says before she says it. They're in a parking space at the front of the CHS lot- next to Ope's truck today instead of the two familiar Harleys- before Donna blinks and turns to Tara, cutting the engine in the process.

"Listen… I know people are coming at you from all sides on this. Mr. Nestor, Jax's parents, your father-" Tara rolls her eyes.

"My father is probably the one person that hasn't weighed in on any of this." Donna waves her hand and continues with her list, counting the last few on delicate fingers.

"-Jax, hell- even Ope and I… especially with this whole thing with Jax and Opie going on. And you don't have to plan your whole life out- at least not yet. _Nobody_ expects that, Tara." Tara nods, slowly; she _knows_all of this, and she raises an eyebrow at Donna in question. Donna bites her lip, again. "It's just that... it seems like Jax is getting off easy- with telling Opie he's prospecting, promising JT he's going to keep his options open- but all he's telling _you_ is what _he _wants. What do_ you_ want?"

"I don't-" Donna shakes her head, frustrated.

"I'm not asking what college you want to go to, what area of medicine you want to end up in… _any _of that. But if you know you're going to go to a four-year school, you gotta tell Jax." Tara doesn't respond, just jerks her gaze from Donna's piercing gray eyes as if they'd just burned her; of _course_ she needs to go to a school that offers a bachelor's degree- that's the first step towards her goal- the one she'd found herself more and more focused on with each passing day. Jackson knows it, too… _doesn't he?_ "And Jax- if he knows he wants to stay here in Charming- or even if he thinks he might want to see what else is out there- he needs to tell you. You need to figure this out together, Tare. It isn't fair to keep each other in the dark."

"Donna, he knows. _I _know. There's nothing to figure out right now, truly." Tara pauses, reaching for the backpack she'd tossed into the back seat of the Cavalier and studying it once it's in her lap; she fingers the zipper distractedly, trying to gather the words necessary to convince Donna… and herself. "When there's something to discuss, we'll discuss it, I promise. Until then, I just want to enjoy these last couple weeks we have here at school… with the four of us." Tentatively, she shifts her gaze back to Donna, who's still angled towards her in the seat, still studying her intensely- though now, Tara thinks she sees a measure of sadness, too. There's a sigh, and then-

"I just don't want either of you to get hurt. Or… or Ope," she adds, needlessly. Then, the determination's back and Donna nods firmly, tucks her hair behind an ear maybe a little more violently than necessary. "_Alright_. We wait out the boys- they'll just have to stop the bickering- at least while we're around. You're right; they're- _we're_\- not gonna ruin this for us." Tara smiles and reaches out a hand to squeeze her friend's.

"Let's go see if the Odd Couple are still fighting."

* * *

He's watching the water swirl around the drain- carrying away the suds he'd just halfheartedly swiped across his body- and it's minutes before Jax realizes just how long he's been standing there; the water's running clear and the ceaseless pounding of the shower on his back isn't serving to distract him anymore. Reluctantly, he turns the dial and the shower splutters before slowing to a steady drip. Jax grabs one of the shitty little school towels he'd tossed over the stall door and fixes it around his waist before giving his upper body a once-over with the other. A glance at the door reminds him that he'd left his clean clothes and everything else in his gym locker, but from the sound of it- or lack thereof- the place has mostly cleared out. Not that he gives a shit about walking around in a towel, usually- but today he's just not in the mood to deal with anyone. Especially Ope.

Opie had blown him off this morning and Gemma had given him a ride in to CHS. Ope had shown up for PE as scheduled, but had begged off actually participating, said he'd messed up his wrist trying to get the handlebar bolt off his bike. Jax knew he was bullshitting- partially because Jax himself had been present the day last week Ope had put in the handlebar risers, and partially because if there's one sport the guy fuckin' hates, it's basketball. He'd sat there on the bleachers while the scrawny little gym teacher had gone over the rules- out of place amongst the guys in athletic shorts and tees with his baggy jeans and wallet chain- cracking his knuckles, his face unreadable as always. The moment the buzzer signifying the end of the early bird period had gone off, he'd disappeared, silently.

Jax sighs. Clearly, he and Ope's on-again-off-again disagreement about prospecting is back _on_, and he doesn't know what the fuck to do about it. This would be so much easier if Piney and JT had just let them drop out like they'd planned; though Ope had never mentioned it, Jax still wonders sometimes if things would have gone differently if he and Ope had confronted their fathers together- showed up united with a solid plan in place. He grimaces as he pulls on clothes- damn him and his impulses, really.

And then he'd given in to impulse again with his scheme to graduate early; he'd seized on a way to beat JT at his own game, sure, but if he's being honest with himself, seeing Tara's plans laid out before him had been a kick in the ass, too. The creeping fear she was going to leave him behind that he'd had the months leading up to that day- hell, since he'd realized she probably wasn't going to be happy sticking around Charming and running books at the garage- had momentarily kicked into full-blown panic… until his head had cleared and he'd quickly realized there was a way to kill two birds with one stone, push off the inevitable just a while longer. The only problem was, he'd considered everyone except Opie, and Ope's more aware of that fact than anyone.

The warning bell breaks into Jax's thoughts and reluctantly, he shoulders his backpack, stuffs the rest of his things into his gym locker, and heads out of the locker room. The gym and the shop are in the same wing and if he's quick about it, he can sneak in a cigarette outside the shop exit door before Coach Kramer- who's still probably knocking heads in the parking lot out front- makes it back to halfheartedly supervise whatever the fuck they're supposed to be doing today in Auto Shop.

Kyle Hobart and a few of the other shop kids are already standing around the project car- an ancient Chevelle Jax is pretty sure is beyond help- but Ope's nowhere in sight; as he cuts through the table area to make a beeline to the exit door, Hobart nods at him and Jax angles his head in return as he pushes outside. The first thing he notices is that the rain hasn't let up at all- thank fuck for the rickety awning that's sheltering him- mostly- from the downpour. The second thing he notices, though, is Opie.

Ope, by turns, seems equally fascinated with the cigarette in his hand and the smoke curling away from him only to dissipate violently once it leaves the shelter of the awning. He doesn't look up, but Jax keeps his eyes trained on him as he fishes his pack of cigs out of his hoodie pocket, tilts one out, and lights it. There's no escape here- not unless the guy plans on heading out into the downpour, and he'll have to pass Jax on his way back into the building- he's just not sure who should feel more trapped. Jax is three drags in before he manages to grunt a "Hey" in Ope's direction.

"Hey," comes the response as Opie flicks the butt out into the rain, watching it swirl away silently as he immediately reaches for another cigarette. _Well. At least he isn't taking the fuck off again_, Jax thinks. That's _something_, at least. Ope flicks a cautious glance his way, takes a drag of the cigarette, then sighs as he leans against the brick exterior of the school. Jax waits a moment, then- when it's clear there's nothing else forthcoming- sighs himself and begins the only place that makes sense.

"I'm sorry, man. I am, and I don't think I've told you that because I'm a selfish asshole…" Jax trails off, but Ope meets his eyes for the first time since their argument at the reservation and is instantly bobbing his head.

"Yup," is all he says before putting his cigarette to his lips again.

"I know you've heard all this before, Ope, but it's still true. I want SAMCRO- like we always talked about- and I want my girl, too. When Tara told me she was takin' summer classes, thinkin' about graduating early, I… I _panicked_, a little. Didn't want her moving on without me, and I know that's selfish as fuck, too. But then when it hit me that if I busted my ass I could do the same and be finished before she has to decide where she's goin' to finish school…" His voice falters, mainly because he's not at all sure what should come after that part. Opie nods at him, an all too familiar expression on his face.

"And what, Jax? She sees that you're already here- already patched in and starting your life with the club- and decides to stay here with you, even though you know that ain't what she really wants for her life? And you're somehow off the hook because _Tara's _the one made the decision, even though you basically forced her to choose between you and her dream? Am I gettin' close?" Ope eyes him for a moment before shaking his head at Jax's silence, knowing too well what it means. Christ, is that really what he'd been hoping for? He'd told himself countless times that once prospecting was over, once Tara had graduated_... then_ they can make all these decisions. Another thought strikes him and he glares at Opie as the bell rings but neither of them make a move to head back inside- cigarettes dangling from fingertips, forgotten.

"If I wait until school's out in May, I won't be done until at least winter, Ope, and it'll be too late. I know we always talked about prospecting together, and I'm sorry I fucked up and didn't bring it to you first… but we got the rest of our lives to sit the Reaper table together. But Tara…" Just like that, all his anger, all his irritation drains away and he finds himself willing away the goddamn stinging in his eyes_\- Christ_, the last thing he needs is to tear up like a goddamn pussy in front of Opie. Jax clears his throat, satisfied that it only cracks a bit as he finishes, "I can't lose her, Ope. I _won't_." He lets the rest remain unsaid; the fear that she won't ever be happy here, even with him, the little doubt he has that if she leaves- goes to some university town with an endless supply of successful, intellectual types that are at least somewhere near her level- she'll realize what she can have that he can't give her… namely, a boyfriend- a _husband_\- that can hold a normal nine-to-five, take her to a party that doesn't have at least six girls he's already been with in attendance, someone who can discuss Shakespeare, Asimov and Voltaire without having to whisper questions in her ear to keep up… and so much more.

Ope's still staring at him with a mixture of sympathy and incredulity- but Jax thinks his features have softened somewhat; at least, he no longer looks like he wants to either stomp off or punch Jax in the face- or both. Finally, he notices the dangerously long ash on his cigarette, and flicks the entire thing away, shaking his head.

"Fuck, Jax…you think all of that's shit I ain't thought of when it comes to Donna? Difference is, we fuckin' _talked _about it. Her dad wants her to stick somewhere around here and take some classes until she knows what she wants to do. And once that's over, well… it ain't like once you leave Charming you can never come back; she winds up at some big-ass school like Berkeley or Cal State, it ain't like I can't see her on weekends."

Jax's continued silence as he processes all of this for the first time- he'd never thought Ope would've had the same worries when it came to Donna, their relationship always seemed so… _easy_, so laid back, just like Opie and Donna themselves- well, the silence is evidently an admission of guilt as far as Ope's concerned. Christ, it probably _is-_ he'd been so intent on establishing himself and then dealing with whatever came next when it _came_, that he'd failed to think of anything- or any_one_\- else. Not even Tara, really, beyond how he'd feel if she left… and from the look on Opie's face, Jax isn't the only one that thinks Jax is an asshole. As he watches, though, his friend scrubs a hand down his chin and over the rapidly filling-in beard he'd refused to trim in months, and seems to come to some sort of decision.

"C'mon," Ope closes the distance between them and seizes his shoulder, giving it a shake before nodding towards the door. "We better get inside before Kramer shows up to take attendance, we can figure out what we're doin' with the rest of our lives later." Jax's cocks an eyebrow and is met with a signature Opie Winston eye roll. "We're gonna corner your old man- andmine- and see what we can't work out about prospecting. Only difference this time is that we do it _together_." Jax nods, resigned to having the same damn conversation with JT he'd had when he announced his plans to drop out. "Oh, and first… you talk to Tara."

* * *

"You got somethin' on your lip"

They're on Jax's bed, studying for next week's exams- well, Tara's studying… Jax hasn't been able to move much past studying _her-_ his notebook resting, forgotten, on his lap as he reclines against the headboard. Tara's lying on her belly, engrossed in some thick book he doesn't recognize, occasionally closing her eyes and moving her lips slightly as if committing something to memory; it's during one of these instances that he sees it- a tiny fleck of glaze perched on her upper lip. They'd stopped at Charming's new sweet shop on the way home from school and brought home this giant peach fritter to share; she'd been unwittingly torturing him ever since-licking a bit of peach off her thumb before turning a page, sucking glaze from the tip of a finger and absentmindedly leaving it to press a dent into her plump lower lip while she focused intently on her book. He's been tamping down the desire that watching her in her element always stirs up for a half hour, now, but the sight of her tongue poking out to swipe at her lips in pursuit of the bit of glaze is just too much.

Jax tosses the notebook aside and slides down on the bed until he's level with her; she doesn't look up from her book, but her lips crook in a small smile and suddenly, he's no longer certain she hadn't known what she was doing, earlier with all the finger sucking and whatnot.

"There's a bit of sugar… right-" Jax leans in to whisper this last part against her lips- "there." The glaze melts the instant he touches his tongue to it, but he washes the sticky sweetness over her lips anyway and when he does claim her mouth fully, he can taste the lingering sugar there, too. He pulls back a bit to flick his tongue over her lips again, and is taken by surprise when she bumps her forehead into his own in her haste to take his lower lip between her teeth and suck it into her mouth. She's hovering over him- alternating teasing nips with gentle suction and her soft, sweet mouth- when he shoves the book to the floor with a thud and rolls over her to drown his senses in her for maybe the thousandth time in his life- only, the tiny part of his brain that's still functioning reminds him that it all seems new.

He's plying her mouth with wet, sucking kisses and reaching between them to undo the top button of her jeans when she murmurs something unintelligible into his mouth. It takes a second time before what she's said truly registers.

"Jackson… your parents…" And although she's just voiced her trepidation, she resumes kissing him with a fervor, slips her hand behind his waistband to grip him, firmly. One slow stroke, and he's gone- doesn't give a shit who might walk in at any moment, whether it's JT, a bunch of One-Niners, the entire goddamn Charming police force… or Gemma. The thought of his mother does give him pause, though, and he can't help glancing at his alarm clock, unable to think clearly as Tara continues working her magic. They've got a half hour, more or less, but- based on past experience- once he's got Tara naked, he doesn't tend to resurface for over twice that.

Like the world's softest, most delectable magnet, however, her lips draw him back in and soon he's cupping her ass and circling his hips against hers, the friction nearly as irresistible as her hand was a moment ago. She's panting softly into his ear as he buries his head into her neck, and only takes a second to find his favorite spot just under the curve of her jaw before giving it a parting nip and rucking her shirt up above her bra. That, too, gets pushed up and out of the way, but it's her eyes he focuses on, rapidly darkening to a deep moss and fixed on his- wide and trusting. He leans to drop another kiss on her lips before murmuring,

"Gemma's due back in half an hour, so we don't have much time." He smirks at the displeasure that crosses her features before unbuttoning her jeans and slipping his hand underneath her panties. "Let me?" Her eyes flutter closed as he traces a finger up and down her slit, and the way she rocks her hips against his hand is the only answer he needs. The smirk only deepens as he lowers his head to her nipples- pebbled, now, against the relative cool of the room- and suckles them by turn while he busies his fingers between her slick thighs.

They haven't done this in a while- been content with kissing and touching- and Jax finds as he teases her lips with two fingers, that the little desperate sounds she's making are totally worth not being able to bury himself in her like he'd wanted. He releases her nipple with a pop and draws back to watch her bite her lip and jerk her head sharply to the side. He circles her again, but purposely doesn't make contact with the spot she needs him the most. Again. And again, until he's just barely parting her, his middle finger barely grazing her nub and then her breath is rushing out all at once with a desperate-

"_Please,_ Jackson…" The strained breathiness of her voice goes straight to his dick, pressed into the side of her thigh, and he can't help but flex his hips just a bit to relieve some of the pressure. He delves into her with a fervor, then, alternating plucking strokes with rougher circles until she's flushed and trembling. Her mouth slackens, her lips dropping into a near-perfect O… and then he remembers something Kozik or someone had described at the clubhouse one afternoon. Determined, Jax pushes one finger, then two, inside- Tara's breath comes a bit faster- and then he curls the longest one, just _so_. Her back arches, breasts straining towards the ceiling, and the sound that crosses her lips is one he's never heard before. Grinning, he does it again, and again- rubbing her nub with a thumb and dragging the tip of his finger against the rippling, hot inner silk of her- until she's somehow both inhaling and exhaling his name and coming with a shudder. Harder, he thinks, than she ever has.

It's a moment before she settles- forces her eyelids open with a glazed smile, and breathes her next words between his parted lips.

"Ohh, Jackson... that was…" He kisses her, swallows whatever the words were that she'd forgotten anyway, then smiles against her lips as he extracts his hand from her panties. She looks on in a haze as he mirrors her movements from minutes ago- licking his thumb, then drawing his index finger into his mouth for a taste. The way she crooks an eyebrow- the way her lips curve into a smile- is all but confirmation she'd known exactly what she was doing, earlier. Then, that train of thought vanishes as she stretches languidly and whispers- "But what about you, Baby?"

He doesn't have time to answer before her small hands are working his belt, then his fly. Doesn't have the words to tell her his mother's due back in mere minutes, doesn't have the desire to stop her as she pulls him to the edge of the bed and works his jeans past his hips. She's standing between his thighs, then kneeling to free him from the confines of his boxers, and it's on the tip of his tongue to remind her that the door's not locked when her soft, hot mouth closes around his cock and all thoughts are lost.

She works him up, taking all of him she can, bobbing up and down for a moment before adding a hand in counterpoint. Her lips meet the semicircle of her fingers over, and over, and over again and he doesn't think anything's ever felt this fucking good… until, suddenly, she draws back to swirl her tongue around the tip of him. His hand lashes out, finds purchase and twists the quilt under him as she drags her fingertips lightly over his soft sac below; somewhere in the back of his mind, he concludes that this might be it- she might actually be driving him fuckin' crazy. No sooner had he come to this conclusion, buried his fingers in her dark hair, when she's pressing a kiss to the tip and looking up at him with those flashing green eyes before diving back down and engulfing nearly all of him at once. The shock of her hot mouth, the feel of her throat closing around him, her fingers grazing his balls, the goddamn _sound _she's making… it's all too much. He barely has time to tug at her hair in warning and grit out her name between his teeth before he's spilling himself in her mouth, pulsing again and again until his hips are shaking with the effort.

Only then does she withdraw, a very familiar smirk on her mouth this time, and the sight of her swollen lips and his finger tracks through her hair are one of the hottest damn things he's ever seen… rivaled only by the look on her face just a few minutes ago when he'd made her come. Then, she's bolting up to kiss him and although he can taste himself on her lips, he can't help getting lost in her once again as they slide in unison back onto his bed, rolling until they're side by side and pressed against each other like the pages of the books that lie, forgotten, on his bedroom floor. Their kisses stretch out over several seconds, then minutes, until Tara freezes and Jax surfaces from the blissfully heavy, drifting state he's been in since this had started.

"You hear that?" Jax furrows his brow and begs his heart to slow a bit- it's still pounding and between that and Tara's breath in his ear, he can't hear much of anything.

"Hear what?"

"That car. I think it's in your driveway." Now he does hear it, and- as usual- Tara's right; the unmistakable purr of his mother's Cadillac is evident outside. Then, it stops suddenly, and he knows they have but a few moments to get themselves together. Jax busies himself with his boxers and his belt while Tara frantically yanks her shirt down, zips herself, and runs desperate fingers through her hair. It's seconds before Jax hears the kitchen door open, and he throws an arm around her shoulders and tries to look casual as Gemma knocks sharply on his door.

"It's open, Ma." One look at Tara- beet red and still a little disheveled- tells him they're busted. Luckily, it's only his mom- the one who'd practically insisted Tara start birth control and had taken her to her very own doctor- and not Tara's father. The thought of Rick Knowles walking through his door right now kills what had been left of his libido, and as the door swings open, he can only hope Gemma just assumes they've been in here making out. It isn't like that's something she hasn't seen before.

Gemma's standing, hip cocked and arms folded, just outside the door frame, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She scans the room briefly- searching for what, Jax has no clue- before angling her chin at them.

"I told you two how I felt about you bein' in here with the door shut." Her eyes rest on Tara a moment before she shakes her head and continues. "We give ya a lot of leeway, Jackson, and there aren't many rules I expect ya to follow… except the ones I set for my own house." Jax wants to argue, wants to tell her how absolutely _stupid_ it is that she'll let them share a bed, take his girl to get birth control- hell, she'd even been the one, years ago, to constantly remind him to wrap his shit. But he's been dating his first girlfriend for over two years now, Gemma actually likes her- might even love her like a daughter, a little bit- and it's a fucking problem when they're together in his room? _Besides_ that- he's getting worked up, now, and Tara begins rubbing his wrist with her thumb- he's eighteen fuckin' years old. Old enough to vote, old enough to buy cigarettes, old enough to move out of his parents' house and into a place of his own, and she's trying to tell him he can't have a little fun with his girlfriend when they're alone in the house? Jax can feel himself on the verge of blurting some- or all- of this out, when Tara's voice sounds from next to him.

"Sorry, Gem. We were studying, and I forgot about the rules." Gemma scoffs, gestures briefly at the two of them.

"Right. That's why you two look guilty as hell… and why Jackson's goddamn zipper is down." _Christ…_ Jax fumbles to zip himself as his mother smirks triumphantly. "Besides, I don't see any _books_… unless you count the ones on the floor." She waits for a response, but Jax is pretty sure anything he says will only make it worse. Then, "I'm starting dinner so we can eat when your father gets home. I got it handled, but if you two could set the table in a little while, I'd appreciate it." Gemma cocks an eyebrow as Tara moves to sit up. "Oh, no, darlin', don't get up for _me_. Finish your _studying_, we won't eat for an hour and a half or so." The sarcasm is practically dripping from her voice, and Jax only has a moment to wonder why before his mother unwittingly answers the question for him with her next comment. "Mau- that Irish tart- is calling after dinner, give you and your father a chance to talk to Trinity, so we need to be done eatin' no later than eight. Dunno why she thinks a child that age needs to be up at that hour…" Gemma's grumbling follows her down the hall as her heels click back towards the kitchen, and Tara slumps against him in relief.

"God, I need to get my own place..." He will, too, just as soon as he figures out when he fuck he's prospecting.

"Christ, Jackson," Tara hisses, ignoring him, "that was worse than I thought it'd be. Is that how she always is when Trinity calls?" He winces, recalling the first year or so after that day in the kitchen when they'd all learned of his half-sister's existence.

"Actually, she's gotten a lot better." He ignores the widening of Tara's eyes in favor of dropping an arm over his face.

"But… how can- it isn't _Trinity's_ fault your dad and Maureen… well… It isn't her fault. She doesn't deserve-" Jax chuckles, his heart warming at Tara's knee-jerk defense of another.

"Relax, Tara. Maureen doesn't let Trinity call often- actually, I'm surprised it's happening this soon after Dad got back from Belfast- just every six months or so, maybe less often than that, even. But Mom doesn't usually talk- JT just sits at the table and they talk for a bit, then he asks if either of us want to say anything. Gemma said hi last time, so that's a start." Jax removes the arm from his face to find Tara, turned on her side and gazing at him with interest.

"And you've never talked to her?" Jax shrugs.

"I dunno, I guess I just felt like when my parents were okay, when Gemma started makin' contact with her, I had the all-clear, too. I didn't want her to feel like… I dunno. Just didn't want her to be weird about it, y'know?" Tara nods, thoughtfully.

"I remember you saying when you told me about it that you felt like JT was trying to replace Tommy. Was that part of it?" God, he loves her, but he wishes she didn't remember every damn thing sometimes- that wasn't something he's particularly proud of saying out loud.

"Maybe at first… but then I realized how fuckin' stupid that was- Dad didn't even know about her for years, and it ain't like he was over there tryin' to build a new family. And like you said, it ain't Trinity's fault she was born under those circumstances, so it ain't fair to hold them against her, either." He _had_, at first, though; the memory floods him with guilt.

He'd spent a lot of time mentally taking his anger with his father- his father's_ indiscretions_\- out on the child that remained nothing more than a hypothetical figure across a continent and a goddamn ocean. He'd seethed silently, told his father exactly what he thought of his weak ass, relegated his half-sister to nothing more than a problem, a _distraction_… run the entire gamut of emotions until the whole thing exhausted him and he just couldn't think about it anymore. He hadn't even had Tara to confide in, since he was pretty sure she knew what it felt like to be a child that was less than wanted, a _burden_, and like hell he'd let her know he was just as selfish as fuckin' Rick Knowles. Then, months later, another letter had arrived from Belfast.

He'd tried to feign nonchalance as JT had sliced it open, but the memory of that first letter- the one that had carried the news that nearly had torn their family apart for the second time in months- still niggled. This time, however, there was no actual letter, just a few photographs- a couple Polaroids and some standard prints. Gemma had merely nodded and turned back to the stove, but Jax had found himself unable to mask his curiosity. JT had looked at each photo at length, placing them one by one on the table, then eyed Jax knowingly before rising to wrap his arms around Gemma from behind.

Jax had paid no attention to his parents' interaction, however- his eyes were fastened upon the photos lined up next to him. The thought of Trinity as an actual person- a baby with hair as white-blonde as both he and Thomas' had been, a chubby toddler with strawberry blonde curls, an honest-to-goodness kid there in front of him- had softened him towards her, finally. He'd fingered the most recent photo- one where she was sitting on someone's Harley, about the age Tommy had been when he died- and the realization that she looked almost nothing like his father, except maybe the eyes, and _definitely_ nothing like his brother had struck him like a punch to the gut. He's still not sure why, but that had been a relief; and _now-_ now that even Gemma is willing to exchange a few pleasant words with the girl in spite of how much the situation probably still hurts her, well… it's probably time he does the same. Besides, there's no other way he can think of to start ingraining into his mind the fact that he has another sibling- a _sister_\- and that he's sort of a big brother again.

Jax turns his head to find Tara studying him silently; Christ, she probably knows exactly what it is he's been thinking- she has an uncanny way of doing that, her _and_ his mother, actually.

"So what are you going to say to her on the phone? Trinity, I mean." Jax chuckles; he doesn't remember telling her he'd actually planned on agreeing to it, so either she thinks he's a much better person than he actually is… or she's read his thoughts once again.

"I dunno, Babe. What do you say to an eight-year-old kid on the phone?" She rolls her eyes at him.

"What do you and Opie talk about on the phone? Maybe start there, just edit out all the cuss words and the Harley references-" She's cut short when he rolls over her to grab at her sides, tickling her until she's gasping for breath and Gemma's yelling from the kitchen that since they're obviously not studying, they can come help her peel carrots.

* * *

Dinner's over and Jax and Tara have again retreated to his room- this time with the door open- since JT had taken over cleanup duties. He and Gemma had been in the midst of something lovey-dovey and gross, and Tara's over there cracking up at the look on his face.

"Stop," is all Jax can say before he's laughing, too. He hates to admit it, but it's nice to have his parents joking around in the kitchen like a couple teenagers again, especially after how tense his mother had been, earlier. _That_ had lasted all the way through dinner prep, and right up until JT had made his way through the door and greeted her with a kiss and a smack on the ass- which had also made Jax nauseous, much to Tara's amusement. After that, though, it was like JT's good mood had been infectious, and even Gemma had come around by the meal's end. The subject of the phone call had come up, but hadn't dampened the mood at all.

As if someone in Belfast had been reading his mind, the phone rings and Jax starts at the sudden intrusion into his thoughts. It halts abruptly halfway through the second ring, and Jax can hear JT answer; normally, that would be odd for the Teller house. Today, though, Jax has a sneaking suspicion JT had answered just in case Maureen's on the other end; nobody wants to deal with whatever shitstorm's sure to come whenever Maureen and Gemma have the inevitable opportunity to make contact. Jax makes no move to roll off his bed as JT's voice rumbles softly into the phone- he's pretty sure it's Trinity, since every time he's overheard his father talk to Maureen, he's been short… stilted, even.

Then, his eyes land on the portable phone extension on his desk, and Tara's follow. She wrinkles her brow, instantly knowing what he's thinking.

"You think that's a good idea, Jackson? It might be too private-" she stops as he waves her off, sliding off the bed to cross the room and grab the phone.

"I've listened in to his side of the conversation lotsa times," he returns, dismissively. "Plus, I'm about a thousand percent sure my mom's right there next to him, too." When she continues to show doubt, Jax lets his casual demeanor slide and curls onto the bed next to her. "I'm still not sure what to say, Tara. Maybe if I listen a little bit, get to know her, it won't be so weird, y'know?" Reluctantly, she nods, evidently seeing his point, if only barely. He holds the phone between them a moment, suddenly uncertain… then bites the bullet and hits the talk button, positioning the phone on the pillow between their ears.

"_-helped in the store today, too. Ma even let me take care of a customer all by m'self!"_

"Well, she must trust you a good deal, sweetheart."

_"She does, I c'n tell. But…" _Trinity's voice quiets to a whisper, _"C'n I tell y' a secret?"_ JT chuckles.

"'Course, darlin'."

_"I think they like me better. The customers, I mean. They always ask when m' Ma is plannin' on lettin' me take over."_ JT bursts out into laughter at this, and Jax thinks he can even hear Gemma chuckling in the background.

"Well, I got a secret for you, Trini. Ya want to hear it?"  
_  
"'Course I do!"_

"Your brother- Jackson, remember? Well, he's on the line with me and he's wantin' to say hi. Maybe even his girlfriend, Tara, too." Jax's heart stops momentarily, only to resume again when JT continues, speaking a little louder this time so that Jax isn't sure if he's trying to talk through the phone or call to him from the other room. "C'mon, Jackson, I can hear you breathing!" _Busted._ "You want me to hang up?" Jax shakes his head, then realizes his father can't hear him.

"Naw, go ahead and stay on if you want. It can be a family conversation." JT's silent, and Jax wonders momentarily if the reference to it as a family conversation had tugged at _his _heart, too. Then, Trinity's voice- sharp, but clear- comes through the line again, this time directed at him.

_"Hi, Jackson!"_ Christ, she sounds so cheerful; Jax is at once convinced Trinity has felt almost none of the trepidation he had about this conversation. She's simply a child, excited to talk to the father and brother she'd never met.

"Hey, Trinity. I've, uh, heard a lot about you."

"_Y' have? From who?"_ What the hell's he supposed to say to that?

"From your uh, my… From Dad." Hopefully, that wasn't too awkward; thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice and prattles on, oblivious to his discomfort. Tara reaches for his hand and squeezes it, then rests their linked fingers on her hip.

_"Da's told me a lot about you, too. He said you ride a motorbike just like him- just like Keith."_

"Yup. He tell you mine's got stuff painted on it?"

_"It does?"_

"Yup. A skull, just like the one over at the clubhouse." That's a shot in the dark- he's never been within a thousand miles of the SAMBEL clubhouse- but they've got to have a skull or a reaper over there somewhere don't they?

_"Ohhh, cool!"_ Then, his father's voice rumbles across the line.

"Jackson doesn't get that there ain't nothin' you can slap on a bike that can improve it, besides the words Harley and Davidson." His father, the purist. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear Gemma make some comment about how JT'd chosen blue instead of red or black- and his father begin to scoff that blue was classic- when Trinity's voice bubbles over the line, again.

_"Oh, hi, Miss Gemma!"_ There's a bit of muffled fumbling around- during which Jax assumes JT's passing the phone to his mother- then Gemma's responding.

"Hi, sweetheart. How're things?"

_"Oh, just fine. Did y' hear I got to mind the store for a bit today?"_

"Yes, I did, love. You must be a real smart girl if you already know how to run a store."

_"S'what m' Ma always says!"_ Trinity's voice couldn't sound any prouder. _"Oh, hey, Jackson…"_

"Yeah, darlin'?" At this, Tara rolls her eyes, and he rolls his right back. He hadn't called her darlin' since she'd threatened him over it nearly two years ago, hadn't used the term on anyone else, hardly, since. But he figures if there's anyone that needs charmed, it's long lost little sisters.

"_Da said you'd tell me about Thomas, some time? I wanna know what he was like- what you're like, too- but Da said you knew him best outta everyone."_ Jax's heart clenches momentarily, to his surprise- it's been a while since the thought of Tommy had had this effect on him; probably something to do with this being a conversation with Trinity, but he doesn't have a lot of time to analyze it before her voice comes again. _"Is that okay? That I asked about him, I mean?"_ Jesus…

"Yeah, darlin', it is." Then, a female voice can be heard in the background for a moment, before Trinity's back.

_"Ma says I got to go- it's super early here and we got to unlock the door of the store for-"_ She's cut off by the other voice again- a little louder this time- and Jax can actually hear bits and pieces. _Don't need t'… Keith's business, y'hear? Go on an'…_

"You good, Trini?" His father, again.

_"Yes. I just got to go is all. Ma says I can call back again some other time."_ She sounds a little dejected, Jax thinks, but this is only the first time he's talked to her so he supposes he isn't a great judge of her mood when it comes right down to it.

"Alright, darlin'. Well, you call back whenever you want to, alright? Most days, you can get me at the garage, your Ma has the number, but if you want to talk to Jackson or Gemma, this one's best, alright?"

_"Aye."_

"Well… call me again soon, alright? Tell your Ma I want to hear from you as often as I can." Jax wonders, then, just how hard it is- having a child on another continent you've met once in your life, having to rely on sparse phone calls and a couple of photos…Then he realizes that the only reason he doesn't know, is because he's never _asked_. Suddenly, he feels a rush of guilt that he's never bothered to do so.

_"Aye."_

"G'bye love."

_"Bye Da. Bye Jackson, bye Gemma, and bye Tara- I hope you talk more next time!"_ And so, they're all laughing as Trinity hangs up.

Jesus, that had been way easier than he'd thought- why had he put it off so long, again? Then, he catches Tara's eye; she's smiling at him fondly, moves the phone so she can lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.

"You always were a great big brother," is all she says, before she rolls off the bed. "Take me home?"

Christ, the day had gotten away from him, again, and he still hasn't broached the subject of the conversation he and Ope plan to have with their fathers before the week is out- when the hell they're prospecting, and how the hell he and Tara are going to make things work once she's done with high school. He sighs, not looking forward to marring the relatively positive note they'd ended the day on. Maybe tomorrow, he'll take her out to the willow or up to the cabin so they can really be alone. Then, they'll figure things out. Yeah. _Tomorrow._


	3. Ch 3

****I own nothing you recognize****

The Chevelle's engine is in pieces on two of the big shop tables, and Kramer's ambling around the assortment of parts, scribbling on notecards and largely ignoring the fact that half the class has disappeared out the back door for a smoke while the other half forms a semicircle around Kyle Hobart and that Anderson prick Jax and Ope had helped Lowell Jr. knock around a couple years ago. Apparently, _that_ friendship hadn't lasted, Jax thinks as he and Ope lean against a table and watch the proceedings; Kyle had been pretty buddy-buddy with the kid up until he'd been a shit to Lowell in front of everyone, and then had the balls to insult Tara. After that, Hobart had been pretty fucking careful to stay on the right side of Jax and Opie, and Jax figures its only a matter of time before he approaches JT about prospecting.

Christ, that's all he needs- some asshole sucking up to him because his daddy's the President… Jax makes a mental note to talk to JT about holding Hobart at arms' length until after Jax himself has done his time and is through prospecting. One glance at Opie- who's watching Hobart strut around in front of Anderson like he's the fuckin' VP or something- tells him they'd probably agree on that much, at least. Ope's shaking his head at the spectacle in the same way he does when Jax has done something supremely stupid; Jax just wishes someone would throw a punch.

The Anderson kid's about to say something that's going to get his ass well and truly kicked, from the look on his face, when Kramer grabs the whistle hanging around his neck. It's the man's only accessory- save the grease coating his fingers and the ridiculous chest hair that's always poking out of his button downs- and he gives it a series of short, sharp blasts to shut everyone up.

"Alright, shitheads, break it up and gather 'round," Kramer barks around the whistle, and jerks his head at Kyle. "Hobart, go get anyone that happened to wander out the back door while I was settin' this up." When Hobart tosses a reluctant glance in Anderson's direction- clearly hating the fact that he now has no choice but to let the little shit get in the last word- Kramer rolls his eyes. "The two of you can meet up for your_ date_after school- somewhere I don't have to drag you both into the office for fighting. Until then, get your ass out there and bring everyone in." Kyle goes, a chorus of hoots and hollers rising behind him, until Kramer shuts _that _down with another blast from the whistle. "Knock it off! Now, the final for this class is next week, and while I'm sure you've been studying since I told ya what would be on it a couple weeks ago, I thought I'd give ya an opportunity to bone up on that knowledge anyhow."

"We ain't got to put that back together, do we Coach?" Anderson- somehow looking both relieved and a bit nervous at the same time- asks as Hobart and the guys that had been outside troop back through the exit door. Kramer rolls his eyes.

"_Christ,_ Anderson, you're the smallest running back CHS has had in years… you keep askin' questions like that, I'm bound to start thinkin' all them hits you took did somethin' to your brain." Anderson opens his mouth again, but Kramer ignores it. "And no, I _told_ all of ya a few weeks ago that the final's in two parts. Part one-" he gestures at the assortment of parts on the table "-auto part identification. Each one of 'em is numbered and all ya gotta do is fill in the name of the part next to the number on the sheet I'm gonna give you on test day."

"What's the other part?" Anderson, again; this time, Kramer fixes him with his patented glare. Christ, not even the football team's safe when Kramer's in one of his moods.

"I was_ gettin'_ to it. Part two, ya bring in whatever ya drive- well, before we get to that, any of ya _not_ drive to school?" Nobody raises a hand. "Good. Bring in whatever ya drive and change the oil in it. You can either sign up for a designated time, or ya can just take turns- it's up to you. Only requirement is, it's got to get done here, and I got to check things over before ya leave. Questions?" Kramer surveys the class again before nodding, briskly, and tossing his pen on the nearest table. "Good. Now get to studyin'." With a last, warning glare at Hobart and Anderson, he heads out the back exit door- ostensibly to have a smoke himself- and the class reluctantly begins milling around the table of parts.

Jax takes a look at the assortment of mostly filthy metal scattered on the table; aside from the engine block, the crankshaft, and the pistons, he isn't altogether sure what the others are. Ope appears next to him suddenly, and Jax throws him an elbow.

"What the fuck are those?" He gestures at a series of similar looking pieces.

"Snap rings. " Ope points to another few groupings of pieces. "Connecting rods, wrist pins, journal bearing caps-"

"Alright, alright." Jax runs a hand through his hair- more cathartic than ever now that it's nearly chin-length- and glares at Opie. "_Show-off."_ Ope shrugs.

"What can I say? I'm a good boy who pays attention in class." Jax rolls his eyes at Ope's shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, _or_… you've been spendin' a few afternoons a week over at the garage." Again, Opie shrugs.

"Yeah, _or_ that. And I dunno why you didn't do the same thing instead of puttin' your time into _this_ shithole.

"We talked about that, Ope- I just wanted to get it over with." Sensing a change in subject is necessary, Jax points at another part. "What about this one?" Opie's eyes follow the direction his finger's pointing.

"Valve spring. Christ, you really haven't been paying attention in here, have you?" Now it's Jax's turn to shrug; he knows how to maintain his bike, change the oil, do all of the important shit, and he's more than ready to learn how to repair any and everything that might come up regarding it. Problem is, it's been running relatively smoothly and he just hasn't made time to figure it all out, yet. In addition, the prospect of spending his days working on cages isn't all that appealing, either- they just don't interest him, and never really have. Even Rick Knowles' classic Cutlass only holds his interest due to the fact that, at any given time, Tara could be inside. Alhough, he does have to admit that the thought of working on the Cutlass is just a little bit more appealing than changing the oil in some basic-ass Honda. Maybe he can convince JT to really push the custom car and bike angle once he's patched in and working at the garage full-time…

"Jax!" Christ, how long has Ope been trying to get his attention?

"Sorry, what?" Ope shakes his head and leans back against the table again, but this time, his voice is lower.

"You talked to Tara yet?" The look on Jax's face must have clued Opie in on the fact that he'd been chickening out all week, because Ope's face soon sets into an expression Jax can only define as _exasperated_. He'd _tried_, he really had, but they hadn't had much alone time since the weather's been crappy; to make matters worse, Rick had been a near-constant presence at the Knowles home all week- something about him taking on a bunch of early runs because of his eyesight not being so great at night. Jax suspects it has more to do with his predilection to be at the bar, evenings… except the Dog's been closed for renovations for several days. As a result, Rick's been glued to his recliner all week with the ever-present bottle of whiskey in hand, and the afternoons they'd spent at his own house had been under Gemma's watchful eye.

If he's being honest with himself, though, Jax has to admit that having this talk just isn't something he's looking forward to. Tara's been mostly silent about both her plans for after high school as well as he and Opie's on-again-off-again feud, but he knows his girl and he knows what's been brewing behind those big green eyes. She loves him- he doesn't doubt that for a second- but the pull inflicted on her by her mother's legacy is nearly as strong as that of Jax's own father's; the way her eyes shine with fierce determination when she gets started talking about helping others is one of the reasons he loves her, actually. It's also fucking terrifying, how near-paralyzed with fear he gets when he lets his mind wander, lets himself picture her at Stanford, or San Diego, or- worse- somewhere across the country, with people who have so much more to offer…

"Christ, Jax, the party's tonight and it's a perfect time to corner Piney and JT." Ope's voice breaks into his thoughts once again, and Jax heaves a sigh.

"I know, bro. It's nice enough today to take a longer ride, so I'm takin' her out to the reservation or somewhere so we can be alone." He's got no idea how this is going to go, and he figures it's in his own best interest to prevent someone popping up and interrupting the conversation; especially since it had taken a week- well, a couple of months if you count the fact that they should have talked about this shit back at the beginning of the semester- to grow the balls to have it in the first place. Ope angles his head and eyes him curiously.

"What're you so scared of, man? Tara fuckin' _loves _you, you guys'll make things work." Jax can only shrug and avoid his friend's gaze. That the whole thing fucking scares him is something he'd only been able to admit to _himself_ as of recently- he'll be damned if he starts spouting off at the mouth about his fears to everybody else. Ope runs a hand down his chin, as if in deep thought, then chuckles. "Not like it's a surprise, though."

"What?" Opie shakes his head.

"The fact that you got trouble dealin' with change- your old man wound up writin' a damn _book _about the shit the club needed to change before he told anyone but _my_ old man."

"It's a manuscript-"

"There's been so much change in your family since-" Ope continues, glancing cautiously at the rest of the class, who are still reluctantly poking and prodding at Kramer's idea of a final exam, before lowing his voice "-since _a couple years ago_…" Opie's voice trails off and Jax knows, instantly, that he's referring to the business with Clay, which had turned out to be just the beginning of a string of life-altering shit that had happened to his family. "I mean, I can't blame any of you for sorta pushin' back against the idea of change at this point." Jax shoots him a sour look.

"What are you, a fuckin' psychiatrist now?"

"Naw, but by this point in my life, I just know how Tellers operate," Opie deadpans. "I mean, _shit_\- your old man's just _now_ goin' through with the changes over at the garage…"

"You know why he couldn't do it before, Ope- it would've been suspicious, after Clay's release and all…" Ope waves his hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, what time you showin' up tonight?"

"Whenever I'm done talkin' to Tara… maybe 'round seven? I dunno."

"She comin' with you?"

"Honestly, bro, it depends on how all that shit goes. I hope so." _Christ,_ does he ever. Opie merely nods.

"A'ight. Well, after the ceremony or whatever the fuck they're callin' it, but before Pop decides he's drunk enough to call it a night… _that's_ when we talk to 'em."

"Yeah, fine." And just like that- his piece apparently said- Opie returns to a companionable silence. If Ope had spent his childhood and teenage years learning how Tellers operated, well, Jax had spent the same learning more than he'd ever wanted to know about the Winstons. Both Piney and Opie tend towards the silent, stoic type… until they feel they have important shit someone else needs to listen to; _then,_ they're hard to shut up until they've said what they had to say before it's back to shrugs and nods once again. Jax, in particular, had been on the receiving end of a few of Piney's tirades- mostly where Tara's concerned, since the guy seems to consider himself a sort of second father to her- and probably the majority of Opie's bitching… but both are loyal as fuck. And as far as Jax- and JT- are concerned, that's what's important.

* * *

"Hey, babe."

Tara nearly rolls her eyes at herself as her heart actually fucking jumps a bit at the sight of Jackson swaggering across the lawn towards her. Christ, they'd been dating over two years now, and he still does things to her heart- and her body- she's yet to read about in any anatomy textbook. It would almost be embarrassing… except she's long since figured out that she has the same effect on him.

"Hey, baby". Jackson flops down under the tree next to her, followed by Opie who practically tackles Donna, tickling her sides until she's shrieking with laughter. Tara exchanges a look with Jackson- evidently, Opie's in a much better mood today than he had been at the beginning of the week… not that _that _took much. Still, they'd all spent the week in a relatively comfortable routine, owing to the fact that Jackson and Opie had had it out some time on Monday. Jackson himself had been relatively mute on the subject, had just said he didn't want to ruin their last week all together, and Tara had secretly agreed. Still, it's a relief to have them both back to normal, mostly.

She smiles as Jackson reaches into the backpack he almost never carries during school hours and pulls out several foil-wrapped objects, a small Tupperware container, and a paper bag. He tosses one of the foil items to each of them- a huge, mouthwatering sandwich, Tara finds as she unwraps hers- peels the lid off the plastic container to reveal an assortment of pickle spears, then settles back to unwrap his own sandwich, oblivious to Opie and Donna's stares. It's a minute before Jackson notices them, pausing with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

"What?" Donna and Opie dissolve into fits of laughter.

"You turning' into Julia Child, bro?" Opie can barely spit the words out, he's laughing so hard. Jackson knits his brow.

"Naw, man, Gemma just dropped it off-"

"Well aren't you a special boy?" Donna chokes out, before losing herself in laughter again. Tara smiles as Jackson rolls his eyes and takes a giant bite of his sandwich before pointing it at Opie.

"Laugh all ya want, dickhead. She said she just wanted to make sure we had a nice last day of school… you know, together." Something flickers across Jackson's face as Opie and Donna's laughter dies down but he smiles- though it rings somewhat false- and resolutely takes another bite of his sandwich. Opie just nods and busies himself with the foil on his own lunch. _Well, that shit killed the mood…but at least Ope doesn't look angry_, Tara thinks, wondering for the hundredth time since Monday what, exactly, had passed between the two of them that had put a stop to the animosity and frustration.

They eat in silence for a bit, a lingering sadness drifting around each of them, by turn. This is the last time they'd all sit under this tree over lunch, the last time Opie would tease Jackson until his nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, the last time Tara would press a soft kiss to her boyfriend's cheek and whisper what she'd been thinking about since the night before… the last time she'd drag him off to the trees to-

"Babe… you OK?" Tara sighs, then, leans against his solid frame and savors the feel of his arm around her. They're all a little melancholy for the same reason, she _knows_ this… but she can't help but think of how Donna and Ope will still have each other, mornings. Even though both Donna and Opie will still be in the building, losing Jackson at CHS means losing her protector, her _comfort…_ That's something not even Opie is going to understand.

"'M'fine…" she mumbles against the side of his chest. Christ, she knows she doesn't sound all that convincing; she also doesn't particularly give a shit. She feels Jackson squeeze her shoulder, then shift forward to lift the paper bag between two fingers.

"Dessert?" His grin is genuine, now, wicked even. Three pairs of eyes raise to his, and he extracts a giant brownie from the bag. Slowly, Opie's smile grows to match Jackson's, and he gestures at the hunk of chocolate.

"Bobby make that?" he asks, knowingly.

"Yuuup."

"Gemma bring it along with the other shit?"

"Nooope." And just like that, the mood lightens again. They're talking and joking like any other day, and Tara almost manages to forget all of the "lasts" that have been coming faster and more furious as the day goes on. _Almost._

"You two comin' to the party tonight?" It's the first time any of them have spoken in a few minutes and Opie's voice is off- slightly glazed, which might be due to the effects of the brownie he'd eaten or maybe the chunk _she'd_ eaten… but Tara thinks she notices a fleeting look pass between he and Jackson. Jackson clears his throat before responding.

"Yeah, brother. We'll be there."

"Oh, _God_, I forgot that was tonight…" Donna trails off into giggles as the warning bell rings in the distance.

"Your parents gonna let you out of the house? Or did they finally figure out what bad influences we all are?" Jackson shoots her a smirk as he hoists himself off the ground and reaches to help her up. If only he knew how close to the truth that was; Donna had confided to her some time ago that, while her parents liked Opie well enough- which is unsurprising given just how quiet and almost shy the guy is around anyone non-SAMCRO- they weren't too sure about the club itself.

Charming seems to have a weird sort of respect for the Sons- most of the members are treated almost as celebrities, while John and Gemma Teller are approached in particular with a begrudging reverence- and Tara's come to learn that that's in no small part due to a fair amount of effort. Club charity runs, Gemma's fundraisers, and charitable contributions are the most obvious examples of the club's attempt to make itself indispensable to the community. But she's also realized recently that John Teller himself, as the sort of figurehead, has built a relationship with the community she'd never have thought possible of an MC king. There's hardly a soul in town he hasn't helped out in some way over the years, whether it was extending credit on work done at the shop, tracking down a runaway, or pushing the slow infiltration of drugs away from Charming's borders; what's more, he'd done almost all of it under his own resolve and- aside from favors for other organizations- without schemes of reciprocity. So, Charming and the Sons have an unconventional relationship, sure, but also a long-standing mutual respect.

Unfortunately, Donna's parents had moved to town at the height of the Mayan troubles and once they'd come to the realization of what the Sons really were, they'd all but forbidden Donna from visiting the clubhouse or having anything to do with anyone SAMCRO except Opie. And it seems that the more serious their relationship gets, the less willing Donna's parents are to give even him the benefit of the doubt, regardless of how shy and kind he is to their daughter.

"If they give me flak, I'll just sneak out later. Or say I'm staying at Tara's." Donna shrugs as Opie pulls her up, and tosses the rest of their picnic back into Jackson's backpack. Opie snorts.

"Riiiiight, like Tara's some angel. Hell, she's worse than the rest of us- I ain't been suspended for fighting since I was a freshman and Tara here got hemmed up sophomore year." Tara rolls her eyes as they set off towards the double doors, well aware of the fact that they're never going to let her live down the time she'd slapped Melissa Rourke in the girls' room.

"Naw…" Jackson counters, slipping his arm around her and pulling her close. "My girl just knows how to stand up for herself." That's true, to an extent, but as they push through the cafeteria doors and past the horde of cheerleaders, jocks, preps, nerds, and more, Tara can't help but come to the realization that she's made a point of not really fitting in with _any_ of those groups. Donna, Opie and Jackson _are_ her group, but that's very quickly coming to an end.

The thought of CHS without Jackson scares her more than she'll ever admit- even to herself.

* * *

"So how's it feel to basically be a graduate?"

Tara's about to put on her helmet, relieved to be about to ride with Jackson after an entire school week of being denied that very privilege. Call her crazy, but the one thing that manages to take her overactive mind off the constant worrying, planning, and stressing about the future her life seems to have become is the Dyna between her legs, her cheek pressed against Jackson's broad shoulders, and the road in front of her. Well, that and getting herself lost in Jackson _himself,_ but that's a given...

As if he's heard her internal monologue, Jackson plucks the helmet out of her hand, sets it on the seat of the Dyna, and rests a hand at her hip. His other is cupping her jaw and his lips are on hers almost before she can think. As usual, she's all but lost in him a millisecond later and she barely notices when he backs her into the Dyna itself, forcing her to lean against the seat- sending the helmet clattering to the pavement- and positions himself between her thighs.

"Pretty goddam good," he growls against her lips, before fusing his mouth to hers and kissing her senseless.

Tara's wrapping her fingers in his long blonde locks and tugging him even closer when she hears it- applause. What the hell? Reluctantly, she releases Jackson's hair, fully expecting to see Ope and Donna smirking over his shoulder; instead, as her hand drifts down Jackson's jawline, she spots Melissa Rourke, David Hale, and a slew of the cheerleaders Jackson and Opie used to refer to as the "Pussy Patrol". Melissa's wearing a nasty smirk and the one on David's face mirrors it.

David and Tara had had several classes together during their time at CHS- owing to the fact that both are in AP classes and relatively academically driven- and although David still obviously has his reservations about Jackson, he'd been a mostly pleasant, considerate acquaintance throughout these last couple years of high school. She'd even considered him a close enough friend at the beginning of the year to feel a bit of relief that he'd still be there, in most of her classes, once Jackson had finished school. But ever since he and Melissa had started dating- right after they'd been crowned Homecoming King and Queen, actually- he'd not let one glance stray Tara's way and had often slid an arm around Melissa in the cafeteria or the hallway when she made some snide comment or other. To see him standing side-by-side with her now, wearing the same sneer, though… Tara can't come up with a word to accurately describe the emotion that's coursing through her veins right now, but _disappointment_ comes close.

"Impressive, Knowles," Melissa bites as she saunters closer- and Tara realizes for the first time that the Dyna is in a parking spot immediately next to David's Camaro.

"Not sure what you mean."

"Oh, _you_ know… getting Teller here to stick around as long as you did. I admit, I'm impressed." She shrugs, opens the passenger door of the Camaro, and tosses her purse inside. "Too bad he won't be here next semester so you can keep him on his leash." She flicks her gaze towards Jackson, momentarily, before sniffing, airily. "I hear the croweaters are ever so… _accommodating_, even when one of their men is dragging along some excess baggage."

"Shut the_ fuck_ up, Melissa." Jackson barks, before Tara can respond. Tara doesn't even have to look at him to know he's gritting his teeth, the rage creeping into the edges of his voice sending the rest of the cheerleaders scattering.

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" Now Hale's stalking towards them, as menacingly as he can with his letter jacket and preppy-ass haircut. Jackson scoffs.

"She's been harassing Tara off and on since the week she came back to Charming-"

"May_be_, man, but what she said just now… it was about _your _criminal ass. Guess it hit home, didn't it?" David comes to a halt half between the Dyna and the open door of his car.

"The fuck's _that _supposed to mean?" Now Jackson's beside Tara, encroaching into David's space, but David only narrows his eyes and leans forward a bit.

"I don't know Teller; why don't you tell _me_? You really think she's so far off? You _really _gonna try to say Tara isn't gonna have to fight her way through a herd of croweaters every time she comes back from college for the weekend? _Especially _when your dad couldn't even-"

The torrent of words stops abruptly as Jackson's fist meets David's jaw with a dull thud, sending him reeling back against the door of the Camaro. _Holy. Shit_. The only thing louder than the noise in Tara's own head is Melissa's shrieking as Opie appears suddenly at Jackson's back, his silent presence enough to both temper the fight in David's eyes and inspire a cocky sneer on Jackson's face.

"David! Oh my _God,_ David! _Do_ something! You can't let him get away with that!" Melissa's grabbing, uselessly, at David's shirt as he slumps against the door of his car; he bats her hands away and struggles upright, slowly. Jackson takes a menacing step towards him, raising a long finger to jab him in the chest.

"You don't say another _fuckin'_ word about Tara,_ or_ my family. You got that, Hale?" David shakes his head, spatting blood onto the pavement.

"His father has _twice_ the sway _yours _does in this town, Jax," Melissa whines. "_Tell _him, Davey." When David merely cracks his knuckles, Melissa continues, her voice higher pitched with each word. "And Knowles… everyone knows _her _drunk of a father-"

"_Shut up!"_ Tara's not even sure which of them had responded to Melissa; all she knows is that when the girl's voice comes again, it's softer, lower, but still trembling with anger.

"You don't have to take this_ shit_ from him, David, your father-"

"My _father_-" David begins, heatedly, "-is a judge. I don't _need_ to take this shit to him, get him to solve my problems for me, because I know with one hundred percent certainty that the day's gonna come soon…" he pins Jackson with a deadly glare Tara's never seen on him before- something that would look at home on Piney or even Jackson's face, but never David's. "The day where Teller, Winston, their fathers and the rest of that bunch of fucking criminals get what's coming to them. And I won't have to say word _one _to my father or anyone else, because all they'll have to do is wait for one of you to do something fucking illegal- and I'm guessing it won't take long."

Jackson looks as if he wants to hit David again-actually, he probably is _about_ to- but Tara loops her arm through his, threads her fingers through his clenched fist and weaves them between his own until she can feel him relax, bit by bit. His breathing is even by the time David continues.

"And _you_…" his eyes rest on Tara, "we were friends once, even though it's clear you've made your choices." Melissa makes a small, sarcastic noise, but he makes no move to acknowledge her. "But do you _really_think you're coming out of this without getting hurt?" Tara says nothing, just clenches her jaw. "I mean, either he's going to drag you down with him, let you get sucked into this town and play at being one of his croweaters until one of you winds up in jail or worse… or you'll leave and he'll do what they_ all_ do." Tara only has a moment to consider what he means by that before Melissa's piping up again.

"They deserve each other- two pieces of trash from white trash families." Her chin's jutting out, her voice defiant. "Why do you _care_ if she gets hurt, Davey? She-"

"I _don't."_ David's dark eyes are boring into Tara now, emotionless, without a hint of even the self-serving caution he'd tried to feed her time and again over the past two years. "Let's get the fuck out of here." He's holding the passenger door open for Melissa by the time Tara finds her voice; though it's a bit shaky, it's clear and strong and that's all she can really ask for at this point.

"I don't expect you to _understand _me, David. Never asked for that. But you were my friend once, like you said, even _after _I chose Jackson-" at the mention of his name, Jackson's hand clenches around hers, but he remains silent, watching and listening. "I don't know what changed that besides Melissa-" David slams the passenger door shut, effectively cutting her off, and rounds the back end of the car. He's at the driver's side door when he pauses, eyes Tara across the roof.

"Wasn't Melissa. You and me, we had a lot in common- both smart, both unsure we'll be able to drag ourselves out of this town to do what we've always wanted to…" He lets his words hang in the air, then, while he jerks his gaze away to study something off in the distance. "You made your choices, but_ I_ made some too; ones that are good for _me,_ and not just everyone else in my life. You feel like doin' the same, you let me know, but until then, I can't afford to be associated with _anyone _mixed up with SAMCRO, and that includes bein' Gemma Teller's paperboy." David jerks open the door, lets his eyes fall on Tara one more time. "I _won't_ turn into Unser… oh and, tell your boyfriend that was a free shot. Next time he hits me, he might find that the _law's_ much less forgiving than I am."

David's in the car, the door slamming shut behind him, before it occurs to Tara why he'd mentioned Unser. He revs the engine and she's forced to wait until he'd roared out of the parking lot before speaking… only Ope beats her to it.

"Ever since that prick announced his intent to go to the Academy, he's been a pain in the ass." She glares at him, then; he returns her gaze, surprised.

"You knew?" Christ, it really shouldn't bother her at this point... but it does. Opie snorts.

"The whole school knew. You know those senior features they put in the paper?" Tara shakes her head, dumbly. Her father had gotten the paper, years ago, but she'd gotten tired of it piling up on their front steps and had cancelled the subscription shortly after her return to Charming. Opie tilts his head, sympathetically. "It was in there, for his plans after high school. Rumor has it Judge Hale flipped his shit- wanted Davey boy to go to college and then law school like ol' In-Hale. Family of judges, lawyers and politicians, you know?" Jackson's arms circle her waist, gently turn her to face him but the pull to bury herself in him is too strong and she drops her head against his chest, shutting out the suddenly-blinding sunshine.

"I'm sorry about all this," he whispers, roughly, in her ear, and kisses her hairline. He'd have loosened his grip, then, but she stays put, refusing to move, and Opie's talking again before Jackson gets the hint and tightens his arms around her once more.

"Anyway, Hale wants to go off and be a goddamn uniform somewhere, he's gonna do it without his daddy's support. Least, that's what he's tellin' himself. But anything happens before he goes off to the Academy- he gets picked up for fighting, assault, _any_ of that- he's lost his shot _and_ the backing of his old man. He can't afford to have any gang affiliation hauntin' him either." Christ… is she, Tara, really _gang affiliated_? She, a seventeen-year-old girl, poses that much of a risk to someone who'd been- at most- friendly to her over the last few years? As if he's read her thoughts, Jackson's voice comes from somewhere above her, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and against her ear.

"That's bullshit, man. They were barely friends- ain't no way anything SAMCRO does would blow back on Hale because of Tara."

"It's Hale." Ope says, matter-of-factly, and Tara can just picture him shrugging. "He's always wanted to make sure he's a thousand percent on the right side of _any _line." He pauses a moment and Tara can hear the flint of a lighter once, twice, before he continues. "Plus, it's _Tara_."

"The hell's _that _mean?" Jackson's voice is higher pitched, angry, and Tara solidifies her grip around his midsection.

"You've always thought Hale had the hots for her. Can't say I disagree… so maybe this is his way of makin' sure he stays clear. Nobody in this goddamn town can deny what the two of you have, that _gotta be with you every minute or I'm gonna kill myself_ type of shit… Hale knows that any conversation he and you have about her is gonna turn bad, and quick. Y'all proved that today. And like I said, he gets hemmed up for fighting or some shit-"

"_Goodbye_ police Academy." Jackson finishes, chuckling, but there's no humor in it. "Well, 'least he backed the fuck off of her." Tara rolls her eyes; she and David had never had anything significant- even the semi-friendly relationship they'd had had been marred by the never-ending friction between he and Jackson, then by Melissa. "It just sucks that you had to lose a friend out of all of it. I-" Jackson pulls back a step and draws a finger up her chin, raising her eyes to his. "I'm sorry, babe. I hate the guy, but I'm sorry you had to lose a friend." She waves him off.

"He… wasn't that good a friend." She smiles, softly, up at him, letting his blue eyes fix on hers and seeing the shades of regret and apology deep within them. He raises his brows, never flinching from her gaze.

"You wanna get outta here? I got some shit we need to talk about before the party tonight."

"Just lead the way, baby."

* * *

The ride out to the reservation had been just what she'd needed, Tara thinks some time after they'd resumed the same position they had the last time they'd been out here- Jackson reclined against the willow's massive trunk, her head resting on his belly, their fingers twined. He's not said much since, though, which is unusual for them- they've always been able to fall into easy silences, never felt the need to fill the air with conversation, but out here… _Here_, there's no threat of any interruption, any outsiders weighing in, and this has always been their place to talk. Nor- Tara smiles a bit as the memories flood back, memories of his mouth on her for the first time, of her naked back pressed against the ridged bark of the tree- is there any chance of someone happening on them in the midst of making love, either.

_Today_, though, Jackson's not initiated either. He'd said he had shit to talk about, but whatever it is must be big because she can tell he's worked up; his breathing's shallow and the muscles of his abs- well-defined on even a normal day- have been rigid and practically vibrating with tension underneath her head. The smile that had been brought on by her earlier thoughts of their more relaxed times here falls away as thoughts- no, _worries_\- about whatever he's brought her up here to talk about begin to flood in.

"What is it, babe?" Jackson had evidently noticed the change in her features, because he's now curled over her, his gaze narrowed a bit.

"Why don't _you_ tell _me_? _You_ had something to talk about, something that needed to be said before the party tonight. So _say_ it." He sighs, slumps back against the tree. _Jesus, what is it?_ Her mind starts working, as it does when things are muddy like this- lack of clarity's always been a sure way to get her overactive mind running overtime. _Before the party… meaning before they're all around SAMCRO… is he patching in tonight? Or starting to prospect, whatever they call that… Maybe Opie'd convinced Piney to let him start early, too- though, why would that be something that required Jackson to bring her all the way up here? Unless-  
_  
"Stop, babe." Jackson's hand rests on her forehead, his thumb drifting over the line that forms between her brows every time she's working something through. _Damn_ him for being able to read her like an open fucking book… "Stop _worrying_." Frustrated, Tara sits up, knocking his hand away in the process.

"Shouldn't _I _be saying the same shit to _you_? You've been tense- _worried_, even- the whole time we've been up here. Whatever's bothering you, just _say_ it!" Slowly, Jackson pushes out a breath, draws up his knees and drapes his arms over them. He blinks, slowly, before dragging his eyes to hers, again, letting her search their depths as he had in the parking lot an hour before, but all she sees is apprehension.

"We need to talk, Tara, about what we're doin' here. After next week, after I pass my finals, I'll be done with CHS and you know how semester finals week goes…" She does: three periods per day for two days- two before a break for open-campus lunch and one after- and the third day, two finals in the morning before they release right before lunch for winter break. The last couple years, she'd seen Jackson and Opie rarely- if at all- that week; they had almost no classes together then, and_ none_ this year, meaning her time with him at CHS is effectively over. But what-

"_Relax_, Tara. I want to be with you, no matter what we gotta do… all I meant is that I won't see you much next week. Winter break, I ain't lettin' you outta my sight, you can count on that." She smiles, a bit, at that, but sobers as he continues. "But we gotta talk about what comes after that- what_ I'm_ gonna do, what _you're _gonna do, because Ope made me realize I've been makin' plans for myself but I ain't considered how they effect anyone else."

"Yeah, you said graduating early, prospecting early… that it was for_ us_, but we've never talked about _how."_ Tara leans forward, pulls his hand into her lap and turns it face-up, tracing the lines of his palm with a nail.

"Look at me Tara." Instantly, she raises her eyes to Jackson's again, her hand falling still on his. He squeezes it as he continues. "It_ is_ for us… but I was fuckin' selfish at the same time and Ope called me on it. I think I was hopin' if I got my ass in gear, finished prospecting by the time you were done with high school, that you'd see stayin' here in Charming was an option- you wouldn't be a doctor, but you could be a licensed nurse, an EMT…" He looks away, briefly, his jaw ticking. "I… I wanted it _all_. Wanted SAMCRO, wanted _you_ here _with_ me…" he returns his gaze to her. "Still do. I just… I know that ain't what's best for you. 'Specially now that Ope opened my eyes a bit. I was thinkin' I'd sail right through prospecting, it's what we'd been told our whole lives, that we- Ope and I- we were a foregone conclusion."

"But that's not how it's gonna work, is it?" Tara wants to smile at him, only it's like her mouth doesn't want to listen to her brain, it's too busy analyzing all he's just told her. She settles for a half-smile before her mind seizes on one bit in particular-_stayin' here in Charming for a while is an option…but I know that ain't what's best for you_. Christ, why had they pushed this conversation aside, again and again? She'd told herself, told Donna, that she'd just wanted to enjoy the time they had left in high school, but the reality is what's happening right now- they'd both been too fucking scared to have it, too afraid the other would confirm their worst fear; that they'd wind up realizing their goals, their plans are just too different… She shakes her head, takes a breath, steels herself before admitting what he hasn't said yet.

"Donna said Opie told her that Piney and JT… they're gonna want you two to prove yourselves, probably more than any other prospect. That they can't risk other charters talking shit about you getting an easy path into the club." Jackson nods.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what he told me. And it makes sense, Tara, that's _exactly_ some shit Piney would say. JT, too. Because after all that's happened with Clay, with breaking ties with the Irish, it looks bad if they don't make us do what everyone else had to do, like they're just installing their sons into seats at the table."

"So now what?"

"Well, Ope and I, we're gonna talk to 'em. See if we can't get 'em to let us start at the same time, in a few weeks. I'll be takin' JT's required college classes, Ope'll be at the high school, still, in the mornings… maybe they'll be willing to let us do afternoons and evenings, I dunno. But I ain't gonna leave him behind, Tara. That was a shitty thing to do to a friend." He looks determined, guilty, and a whole host of other emotions she can't define, but he's looking at her with confidence, now.

"And what if they tell you he can't prospect until he's done with school? Like the original deal?"

"Then we start in May, but we start together. I'll just… be more of a fuckin' frat boy than I ever planned on being, spring semester. I'll take a full schedule, or mostly full, get more classes out of the way than I thought I would." Jackson shrugs, and Tara gives him a light shove to the shoulder.

"If there's anyone I know that will _never_ be a frat boy, it's you, baby." He chuckles, gives her that crooked smile, and she picks up his hand once again as it fades.

"I just wanted to talk to you, first, let you know that no matter what happens tonight, no matter when I prospect, when I patch in, we're gonna make this work. _Us_." Jackson shifts closer, places both hands at her jawline- cupping her chin and keeping her facing him as he drops his forehead to touch hers. "Ever since I was five, all I wanted was a Harley and a kutte. That ain't changed, except…" he blinks, almost as if he's just now realizing whatever it is he's about to say, "except now I want one more thing. A Harley, a kutte, and _you_. And I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen." Tara closes her eyes, opens them again to find his unwavering stare searching hers.

"_Whatever it takes…_ What does that _mean,_ though, Jackson?" He nods, slightly, his forehead tilting her own.

"It means that wherever you go- whether it's Stanford, or LA, or San Diego, or goddamn Yale- well, I might not be able to go with you, depending… but I'll visit, I'll find a charter between here and there… _something_. We can_ do_ this, babe; I just can't leave the club- my legacy- altogether." At this, Tara's heart jumps. Is he really willing to leave Charming, for her?

"You'd leave Charming? But what about the President's seat, Opie…" He takes a deep breath as her voice falls away, uncertainly.

"The President's seat'll keep- Dad and Piney ain't goin' anywhere any time soon. And I _couldn't _leave Charming, at least not right away. I got to prospect, put in my time here before any other charter would take me. And it might not even come to that- depending on where you get in…" He chuckles, humorlessly. "Well, I'm sure you'll get in everywhere, babe. You're the smartest person I know-" She's shaking her head before he can finish that thought.

"I won't even be valedictorian- that'll be David. And It won't matter _where_ I get in if I don't get some huge, ridiculous scholarship." Jackson shakes his head, grimly.

"I _know_ you will, though. That's what scared me, I think, why I was so anxious to get my prospecting done. I thought maybe you'd think twice about goin' somewhere like Harvard if I was already here and in SAMCRO... Christ, I'm sorry, babe." He swallows, thickly, before continuing. "Even San Diego's almost an eight hour ride away- and I _know_ you'll get in; I _know_ you'll get scholarships. But I'm done bein' selfish, babe; I don't want you to make your choice because its too late and I've already made mine. So if it's gotta be weekends, school breaks and shit at first, until I'm a patched member and can transfer somewhere closer, that's what's gotta happen. I promise, Tara. I'll do what I can, for you… for _us_."

Jesus, she feels like her heart's splitting in two; half of it's practically goddamn melting at his words- he's willing to transfer charters, at least temporarily, to be with her while she goes to school. She'd known JT had made the offer, but since Jackson had decided on graduating early, since he'd scoffed about the college classes JT had _also _required in the same deal, she'd pretty much assumed it was an impossibility. Yet, here he is, promising to put at least one of his dreams- sitting the VP chair at the table with his father- on hold temporarily… for _her._ The other half of her heart- the part that's not melting- is frozen in dread at the prospect of leaving him here, living her life only seeing him on the weekends… and at the thought of him resenting her someday for his decision.

"How long before you think they'd let you transfer?" she asks, softly. Jackson frowns, retreats a bit to scrub a hand over the growth on his chin.

"I dunno, babe; at least a year, I'd think. Happy asked for a transfer down here to be closer to his Ma when I was a kid- she had a cancer scare or somethin'. He'd just patched Tacoma and I remember my dad bitching about how SAMCRO had accepted his request, but Tacoma'd denied him. You gotta establish yourself, prove your worth to the club, before you can ask somthin' like that. But my dad… he offered me a transfer, so it should go easier for me. He loves you, Tara- you're practically a daughter to him and I know he'd do what he can to help us." She nods, then, braces herself to tell him the idea that had been niggling ever since Donna had mentioned it days ago, had been solidified an hour ago by some of the vitriol Melissa had spit. _God_, she'd never thought anything that came out of that girl's mouth would be worth a shit, but here she is…

"I've been thinking, too, Jackson. About us. And I hate that we've been letting ourselves get eaten up by this shit, but I've been scared to talk about it too. I was afraid you'd prospect, patch SAMCRO and never look back, and I'd be off getting my degree somewhere and we'd just…_ lose_ each other." Jackson inhales, sharply.

"I'd never-"

"I know, and trust me, with what you just told me, I was worried about shit that will never happen." Though, considering what Ope had made him admit, they'd been a lot closer to trapping themselves on that train- constantly hurtling towards two separate destinies- than even she had thought. "But I don't want to spend my weeks alone, see you just on breaks or only hear your voice on the phone, even if it's only for your first year in the club and my first year in college." Jackson knits his brow in confusion. _Just hear me out, baby_, she pleads with him, silently. "Just like it wouldn't have been fair to me for you to patch SAMCRO to try to talk me into staying and giving up on being a surgeon…. Well, it isn't fair for you to make all the sacrifices, either."

"Babe-" She stops him with her fingers to his lips.

"Listen first, okay?" He nods, reluctantly. "My dad said it himself- he isn't made of money, and Melissa had a point earlier when she referred to me as white trash." She ignores the flash of anger that crosses Jackson's face. "I mentioned scholarships for a reason; I can get financial aid- especially since my dad doesn't make all that much money- but if I use the maximum every year of my undergrad, I'll probably be tapped out by the time it comes to med school. That's why work study, scholarships, grants- anything I can get, really- are so important to me, along with keeping my cost of attendance as low as possible." Jackson's nodding along with her- at least it seems to be sinking in. "Donna said something the other day that got me thinking beyond the scholarship stuff the guidance counselor's been handing me; her parents have money, can afford to send her to school and pay her tuition… but her dad considers spending money on a four-year school the first year or two- you know, when you're taking general education classes and not in your major yet- a waste of money. So, she said she's probably staying here and going to Charming Community College until she decides on a major"

"I guess I could see that. Ope didn't say anything about her stayin' though-"

"Yeah, she's waiting on an internship like I am. She probably doesn't want to make any promises she can't keep. But _me_… I don't _have_ any backup plan if I don't get a good scholarship, Jackson. A scholarship… it'll pay for classes here at Charming Community College just like it would a university. Or, most of them will hold until I get somewhere else. I don't know why I didn't really consider it before; I think I was just so focused on getting to med school, I overlooked the best- the most cost-effective- option." Jackson's shaking his head, grabbing both her hands.

"Babe, that ain't happenin'. You're not going to settle for somethin' that's not gonna make you happy-"

"Just like _you're _not?"

"Long as I'm in the Sons, I'm fine, we can handle the rest later. But _you_… you're not gonna be happy if you settle for becoming a nurse or an EMT. I _know_ you." Tara squeezes his hands.

"And I'm _not_. I'm just getting my first year or two out of the way here, where it's less expensive and I can knock out some of the classes I can take anywhere. Eventually, I'll _have_ to transfer- get my bachelors, and then probably somewhere else for Med School. But I'll be here, with you, until _you _can transfer. Wherever we go, we'll make it work. If you find a charter somewhere near a university willing to give me a scholarship, we can live somewhere between or wherever you need to. And when I'm done… well, there's obviously a hospital_ here_, you know?" She can practically see the wheels turning in Jackson's head as he works it through- he's silent for what seems like _hour_s; then, that smile of his begins forming, curling the corners of his mouth until he's practically beaming at her. Before she knows it, he's kissing her- planting one, hard, kiss on her lips. Then another, and another, and another until he's smiling against her lips, his breath rushing out shakily.

"So that's it, then? That's the plan?" Smiling herself, she nods, murmuring her own words into his mouth, since she's not willing to leave his embrace… not quite yet.

"That's the plan. We both bend a little, but no one_ breaks_."

"And we both get what we've always wanted… you get to be a fuckin' _surgeon_, Tara." His lips twitch a bit. "_God,_ that sounds sexy… my wife, the surgeon."

Tara's heart clenches at the word _wife_; they'd talked about _forever_ countless times, in that way the term forever has of meaning _as long as we can_ or _until some other shit happens_… but neither of them had ever mentioned marriage before. Silently, she ticks off the bullet points of what's just happened: Jackson seems oblivious to what he's just let slip, they're eighteen and seventeen, and there's so much more life to go before they even consider that- but in that moment, Tara smiles and folds his words into her heart… His words that come with the knowledge that at least his subconscious is planning on a future- _that_ future- with her. She's grinning so hard she has to actually force herself to respond, in kind.

"And _you_ get to run SAMCRO, baby. Maybe just a little later than you'd planned." Her smile grows broader as he corrects her.

But that's not _all_ I want; I told you that earlier. I get SAMCRO… but I also get _you_. And that's what matters, because before anything else and _after _anything else… I love you." And as he leans her back to take her mouth again, just before all reason leaves her and she's lost in him yet again, Tara decides that he's right.

_"I love you too."_

* * *

The Dyna rolls onto the lot later than he'd planned- Christ, everyone's already here, including Uncle Jury, who's notoriously the last to arrive at every family function. In addition, he can see every last member of SAMCRO, all their old ladies, girlfriends, hangarounds, croweaters, kids...they really are the last to arrive. Jax can't bring himself to care much, though- not with the way he's feeling, which is pretty good.

_Good?_ His mind seems to be asking him. _More like fuckin' euphoric._ The talk with Tara- which he'd expected to end with him offering to transfer for a little while, as much as the thought makes his very heart constrict- had taken a turn he'd never seen coming. In retrospect, though, she's right- if they'd talked a long time ago, they'd have saved themselves a lot of angst and probably landed on this solution much earlier. And at some point, they're going to run up on some big fuckin' decisions when it comes time for Tara to go off to a university… but for now- life is good. He's done with school, he's about to prospect for his father's club with his best friend in the world, they've figured out a way for him to keep his girl without stifling her ambition- there really isn't much else he could ask for.

As if to confirm that the universe is finally, _finally _on his side, a roar comes up from the crowd and Jax scans the lot, trying to catch a glimpse of what had caused it. Tara appears next to him, grabbing his hand and pointing; he follows her line of sight to the rooftop directly above the garage outcropping of T-M… or what _had been_ T-M. Two men- Kozik and Tig, from what he can see- are hoisting flat-tipped shovels above their heads and egging on the crowd. Jax grins and turns to Tara.

"Glad we didn't miss it!" he has to shout to be heard over the crowd. Tara merely wrinkles her brow in confusion.

"Miss what?"

"Just wait-" His explanation is halted by a loud whistle from the front of the crowd; Piney and JT are standing on the picnic tables- Christ, he's a little sad he missed Piney's ass climbing up there- and as the crowd quiets, JT begins to speak.

"Thanks for coming everybody. I'll keep this short-"

"So we can get to the _real _entertainment!" someone shouts, and the entire group breaks out into laughter.

"That's a fact. Anyway, thank you- not only for coming, but for sticking with us these last few years. It ain't always been easy-"

"Aye, especially when ye were laid up an' got outta oil changes fer _months_!" _Chibs._ Jax grins at the thought of the guys ribbing his old man; evidently JT feels the same because he's wearing a matching one.

"Yeah, yeah, some of you had to pick up my slack. But really, I know shit got crazy there for a while… for the club, for the families, and for this business. This garage has been the backbone of all of it for a long time now. We've seen sons become mechanics-" Lowell, Jr. takes a fair bit of jostling from those around him- he'd dropped out the summer Jax had wanted to and begun working at the garage shortly after "-_mechanics_ become_ Sons_-" Kozik raises his shovel again, while Tig bows- "and seen a long-time partner part ways with us."

_Clay._ The crowd is silent; nobody cheers, nobody jokes, and no words are said in his memory. Next to him, Tara shivers; JT merely clears his throat and continues.

"The departure of one partner has left a hole, so to speak. We haven't addressed it until now, for obvious, uh... _legal_ reasons. Gentlemen?" Tig and Kozik snap into action, laning over the edge of the roof to pry at the edges of the familiar red and gold TELLER-MORROW sign. Well, not the whole thing, Jax notes- just the MORROW portion. There's an audible crack as the nails and adhesive are momentarily unwilling to separate from the stucco of the side of the garage, and the name Morrow is rent nearly in half- MO and part of an R folding over on themselves before breaking off completely with the help of Kozik's shovel and hitting the pavement with a thwack. After that, Kozik sets to work at helping Tig with his side and within a few short minutes, ROW is landing on the pavement on top of it.

There are a few hoots and hollers, but it's nothing compared to the marching band that's currently set up residence in Jax's chest. He'd watched Clay die, watched him buried- since JT had thought it best to give him a halfway traditional SAMCRO sendoff to minimize suspicions- removed his mugshot from the Wall of Fame himself, hell- spent the last two years thankful the man was dead… But he's realizing that none of it had seemed real, up until now. The last vestiges of Clay Morrow are finally gone from the garage, the clubhouse... and SAMCRO itself.

"As with any hole, someone's gonna come around and want to see it filled." JT's talking over the din, and at once, the crowd stills. "This time, that someone is me; after all, we can't really leave it at Teller and_ blank_Automotive Repair forever. And Bobby here says we don't have the funds to replace the whole damn sign, so…" everyone chuckles as Bobby shrugs. JT nods at Tig and Kozik again, who reach between themselves to unfurl a banner in the same red block letters as the original sign. "WINSTON" it reads, and this time, the noise is unbelievable. JT hops from one table to the other and nearly knocks Piney over in a bear hug; Jax himself is beginning to feel hoarse from yelling when he's practically lifted a foot in the air.

Ope's still squeezing the life out of him by the time his dangling toes find purchase on the ground again, and Jax doesn't know when he's been fucking happier.

"Love you, bro," Opie nearly shouts in his ear before reaching blindly to drag Tara between them. Then, Donna appears at his other side and all Jax can say is-

"Love you too."

A couple hours later, most of the families have gone and only a few Old Ladies remain, gathered around Gemma and sipping on margaritas at one of the picnic tables. Inside the clubhouse, the scene's a little crazier- several Sons are shooting pool or gathered at the bar, but just as many are somewhere in the midst of either watching one of the more daring croweaters dance on the coffee table or receiving a lap dance of their own. The music is blaring and while Jax is half-drunk- owing to the four beers and a good amount of whiskey he's already consumed- Tara's all but gone and Donna's no better. What he hadn't considered when he'd agreed to this talk with Piney and JT was having to find a place for Donna and Tara to hang out while he and Ope disappear for a half hour. Christ, it would be a lot easier if he had a dorm room here, especially now that he's done with school and attending these parties with his girlfriend is going to happen a lot more frequently.

As a last resort, he locates Opie- who looks almost painfully sober- and Donna back outside near the picnic tables.

"Hey, Ope…" Opie turns and immediately raises his eyebrow at Tara, who's practically swaying next to Jax.

"Yeah. I know." Fuck, if she wasn't so goddamn affectionate and adorable, drunk, he'd be annoyed. As it is, though, she's currently giggling and squeezing his ass through his back pocket, and he's doing his best to resist leading her back to the apartment, conversations about prospecting be damned. "Could you do me a favor? Take the truck and drop the girls off at my house? It's five minutes down the road, so when you get back we can talk to Dad and Piney, and then we can all crash there. Ain't no way Mom and Dad are makin' it home tonight, they'll probably sleep in the apartment." As if to prove him right, peals of laughter rise from the nearest table; Gemma's doubled over with laughter and nearly knocks over her drink. Jax grins- everyone's cutting loose tonight, and it feels good. Ope, on the other hand, sighs.

"How'd _I_ get stuck bein' the designated driver?" Jax shrugs.

"You're the only one with a truck," he responds, matter-of-factly. "Besides, it ain't my fault Piney told you you'd have to drop his ass off, too." Jax nudges Tara. "Hey babe." No response. "_Babe_." She grins up at him, and actually fuckin' winks as he gets her attention. "Ope's gonna take you to my house so we can talk to our dads. Will you and Donna be alright there for maybe a half hour until we get back?" He's answered with laughter from both Tara and Donna before Tara loops her arms around his neck and presses a sloppy kiss to his lips- one he shouldn't be responding to, but does because, well, it's _her_.

"Long as you promise to come tuck me in." she slurs, drunkenly, and Jax smiles down at her.

"_Promise._ And you better be alone in there when I get back. Tell Donna to crash on one of the couches." Ope shoots him a look but says nothing, pulling both girls by a hand on his way across the lot to the truck. It isn't until he finally closes the passenger door after Tara that he calls out across the lot-

"You owe me!" Jax chuckles before shouting back-

"You got this!"

Tara and Donna taken care of for the time being, Jax sets off on a mission to find JT; however, after nearly fifteen minutes of wandering and interrupting Sons who are having way too good a time to give him a straight answer, he's out of ideas. Then, just as he's beginning to wonder if maybe his dad had gone to bed or some shit and heads down the back hallways to check, he notices that the trap door to the rooftop ladder is open. He climbs halfway up before calling ahead.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Son?" The voice is distant, but obviously coming from the rooftop.

Satisfied JT's actually up there, he clambers up the remaining rungs and emerges on the rooftop to find his father sitting on a milk crate and writing on one of the small notepads Jax has taken to writing in himself.

"Sorry to bother you-"

"You're not bothering me, Son." With a slight smile, his father folds the notepad closed and pockets it. "I figure ya came all the way up here, so you've probably got somethin' you want to talk about." Jax nods, suddenly nervous again despite the elation he'd spent the rest of the evening basking in. JT just looks at him, expectantly.

"I, uh… I do. Actually, it's both Ope and I." Just then, as if summoned, the Winston truck cruises through the gate and back onto the lot. JT eyes him knowingly.

"Let me throw out a guess. Now that you're done with high school…_ early_, you and Ope want to talk to us about prospecting _early_, 'cause you think we're gonna bend the rules we set out for ya." _Shit._ This is already not sounding good. JT's next comment just makes Jax's stomach sink further. "Might be a shorter conversation than you thought… but let's go have it."

Sighing, Jax follows his father back down the ladder, through the back hall, and into the large room of the clubhouse. They meet Piney and Opie in the midst of the throng of people about halfway to the door. Piney's already frowning, and Ope's looking resigned.

"Your boy wanna talk to you, too?" Piney rasps over the din. JT nods and jerks his head towards the hallway_. Okay, so we're headed to the apartment- at least it'll be quiet when the ass-chewing begins…_  
  
After they're effectively shut in against the party noise, Piney settles heavily in the desk chair and spreads his arms.

"What is it, then?" Jax and Opie exchange a look as JT leans against the desk itself. In that moment, it strikes Jax that most of Northern California would be intimidated as hell at meeting with the President and VP of SAMCRO- to include leaders of other clubs. Jax himself is nervous, yeah, but not _intimidated; _also, he's not choked with fear like he had been before his conversation with Tara. That alone bears revisiting later, when he's got time to think.

"We, uh… Well, I'm done with high school, effective next week." _So?_ Piney's face seems to be saying, but JT's merely calm, waiting. "Ope starts his vocational shit every afternoon next semester and he'll be here at the garage half the day anyway. So we were thinkin'… maybe we could start prospecting soon." Piney's jaw ticks, then his expression morphs into a glare before Jax's eyes.

"Thought you were set on prospecting alone? 'Cause your little agreement with your old man, well, that's been fulfilled, ain't it? So long as you take a college class or some shit, right?"

"Basically," interjects JT. Jax waits for more, for the rest of whatever his father's got to say, but JT falls back into silence once again. _Okay…_

"Well, we did some talkin', Ope and I. He made me see how selfish I was bein'. I don't want to prospect until we can do it like we always planned… _together."_ Piney eyes him a moment, then his cloudy expression clears.

"Good, Boy. Glad you've come to your senses." He hoists himself out of the chair and crosses the room to clap Jax on the shoulder. "The two a' you can prospect together, then. In _May_." Jax can hear the slow exhale of Opie's breath from feet away, over the distant din of the party.

"Pop…" Piney shoots his son an incredulous look.

"You graduated high school already and I didn't know about it?" He waits for Ope to shake his head before continuing. "No? Then, you prospect in May, once it's done. _Like I said."_ Piney turns to JT, angles his head at the door. "I'm gonna head home. Got a lot of shit to take care of tomorrow, one of 'em bein' findin' someone to hang that damn sign."

"Alright, brother," JT murmurs. "I'll see ya then." The door slams behind Piney before Jax can think of a way to hold him up. Ope's staring at the floor, expressionless.

"There ain't gonna be any way to convince him, is there?" Opie's voice is so soft, Jax barely hears it and he's got no idea how JT does.

"Afraid not, Son. But I don't blame him for wantin' ya to get your education first, or for not wantin' ya to pull double duty." Opie's head snaps up at this. "Jax told me what you were thinkin', up on the roof. I'm sorry boys, but if ya wanna do it together- and that's what I hope you'll choose- you'll wait 'til school's out." When neither of them answer for a moment, JT continues. "Piney and I have always raised you as brothers- you had that sense of brotherhood way younger than any of us ever did. You made the right choice, prospecting together." He hesitates a moment, narrows his eyes before speaking further. "I assume you spoke to your girl about this, Jackson? Opie?" Both nod.

"I talked to Tara this afternoon. She's doing her first year or two at CCC, waitin' out some scholarships and shit." JT's eyebrows fly to his hairline, and Jax holds up a hand. "I swear, Dad, she's still goin' to medical school and all that shit. She just wants to get some shit under her belt here first, save up money, that sort of thing." JT relaxes, and a memory of his father lecturing him on letting Tara pursue her dreams appears, unbidden. "We compromised, Dad." Uneasily, Jax glances at Opie, who's eyeing him curiously. "Sorry, man, I didn't get a chance to tell you, before…" Ope nods, claps Jax on the shoulder.

"It's a'ight. I get it." Opie shoots him a smile and Jax can't help but feel a pang of guilt knife through him at the thought of leaving Ope in Charming, of spending a couple years in some other chapter without him. But that's a conversation for another time, two years down the road. "I better go chase after Pop- I'm supposed to drive his ass home, then I'll come snag you."

"Naw, I'll be right behind you, no sense in you makin' a bunch of trips," Jax responds. Opie nods, then heads off to find Piney. JT waits until the door shuts behind him before straightening and crossing the room to fold Jax into a hug.

"I'm proud of you, Son." His father pulls back, holds him at arms' length. "I know you don't necessarily see the point in how I'm doin' things, but someday down the road when you have an education under your belt, you'll understand. But I'm proud of you for considering Ope, and especially for considering Tara; I'll help you any way I can." JT sobers a bit. "Just make sure this compromise- on this and on _everything_moving forward- comes from both a' you, you understand?" Confused, Jax nods anyway as JT's face clears. "Good. That little girl- well, both a' you, actually- deserve the best."

Jax is still mulling over what his father had meant an hour later, in his own bed. He lays awake for what seems like hours, turning things over in his mind, unable to turn off his brain; in the end, it's only Tara's soft breath on his chest that eventually lulls him into sleep.


	4. Ch 4

***I own nothing you recognize***

For the first morning all week, Jax is on his bike and headed away from Teller-Winston- much to his relief. He'd agreed to give JT his mornings- even once classes start so that Dog or somebody can attempt to beat some information about cages into his head. So far, though- despite the fact that he'd been there well into the afternoon every day (since the community college doesn't start back up until the week after CHS)- that had mostly consisted of sweeping up cigarette butts, sorting bolts, and listening to Tig give him shit about how _Daddy isn't here to give him the good jobs._ Christ, he's almost looking forward to this stupid-ass academic advisor meeting.

More likely, he admits, is that he's looking forward to having his girl with him all afternoon and evening. Tara had started the last half of her senior year on Monday, and although she'll be spending afternoons at CCC with him come next week, this week had consisted of full days at the high school- something about an independent study and an internship she was setting up that had to go through the guidance counselor at CHS before she can register over at the college. Donna had been giving her a lift to school in the morning, just like she had last semester when he and Ope had taken early bird PE, but they'd decided Jax would pick her up at lunch and they'd go on to CCC together, regardless of what their respective schedules turn out to be.

And Tara's, he knows, is going to be a doozy- in addition to her independent study and a full slate of morning classes at the high school, she's also taking on college classes, not to mention the internship; Christ, Jax's head is fucking spinning and it isn't even his schedule. At the end of the day, he knows their time together on the CCC campus in the afternoon is going to be minimal, at best, and her time in the evenings is probably going to consist of a lot of studying.

Sighing, Jax turns onto the cross street that leads to CHS and tries to recapture the feeling of freedom that he'd started this ride with- he's about to have his girl on the back of his bike after nearly a week of missing her arms around his midsection and her cheek resting against his back… Seeing her, he knows, is the one thing that's going to save this whole shitty week. As promised, he'd spent as much time with Tara as possible over Christmas break, but this first week of not being in school with her had proven to be harder than he'd thought- especially in contrast to the lazy days that had preceded it.

Tara's sitting on the front steps of CHS as he pulls in to the horseshoe-shaped pickup lane, reading a rather thick-looking novel; she looks up as he downshifts and a brilliant smile graces her lips. God, he hopes she's always this pleased to see him… A smile makes just about anyone look more pleasant and approachable, but on Tara, it's almost transformative; she's beautiful to him all the time, but that gorgeous smile actually makes his fucking breath catch. Then, he's grinning back and she's jogging to greet him, wrapping her arms around his neck and practically knocking him off the Dyna altogether.

"Hey, Baby."

Jax doesn't even have time to respond before she's pressing her lips to his in greeting. Damn, she smells good, the familiar mint shampoo and berry chapstick filling his nostrils the way she fills his heart. Christ, but it's true- she _does_ fill his heart, makes him complete, somehow… better able to face everything from the truly hard shit to the everyday. Only Opie knows how truly bad he's got it for her; he's pretty sure everyone else in his life would tell him just how pussy-whipped he is- and probably, they _will_ do just that when it comes time for him to put in his transfer- but when she's close to him like this he just can't manage to care; especially since all of that's somewhere on the horizon. Jax pulls back a bit before he's completely fucking lost in her and tempted to whisk her away to the cabin, the willow on the reservation- hell, there are some fairly dark corners back behind the building they'd scoped out junior year… _Jesus Christ; focus, Teller._

"Hey. You ready?" If it's possible, her smile widens.

"You bet your ass, Teller." Another brief kiss and then his arms are grasping air because she's already climbing on the back of the Dyna and securing her arms firmly around him. Her cheek rests against the center of his back where it belongs and he leaves the CHS parking lot already feeling infinitely better than when he'd entered it.

Jax parks in an open area towards the back of the main Charming Community College lot, just as he always had over at CHS; force of habit, he supposes, though here there isn't the need to save a spot for Ope's bike or Donna's Cavalier. No, here it's just the two of them… and about a thousand other assholes once shit gets real on Monday, he supposes, though the lot's relatively empty today.

"Hand me your appointment slip so I can see if we're headed to the same building," Tara's saying as they dismount. Jax rifles through his pockets before locating the familiar bright pink paper at the bottom of the left and handing it to her as he hangs their helmets from a handlebar. "_Really, Jackson?_"

Something in Tara's voice gives him pause, slows him as he turns from the Dyna to face her. She's holding the slip, dangling it between two fingers with an eyebrow raised, and he looks at it-_ really_ looks at it- for probably the first time since it had arrived in the mail last week. Okay, so it had probably gotten wet at some point- it definitely hadn't been quite that weathered the last time he'd seen it.

"Yeah, I think I was wearing these jeans when that thing came in the mail. Might've gone through the wash or some shit-" _Yeah, it had definitely gone through the wash._ Tara's shaking her head, though, and advancing on him- evidently not accepting his excuse at face value.

"That's not even the issue, Jackson. This appointment was for _Wednesday_ at one o'clock, not_ Friday_." Jax shrugs.

"Well, yours was today, so I just figured we'd go in together-"

"That isn't how it works!" Frustrated, Tara whirls and begins stalking across the lot towards the double doors. Sighing, Jax fingers the pack of cigarettes in his pocket briefly- his hopes of a smoke before the meeting draining away- before jogging after her and catching her hand.

"Tara. It'll be fine, I'll just wait until he's done talkin' to you and then take care of my shit." She halts at his voice, then rounds on him, shaking her head.

"_My_ appointment is with the high school transition counselor- he _only_ works with students coming over part-time from CHS and the other schools in the area;_ I'm_ still a high school student, _you're_ not. You need to see an academic advisor so you can choose your classes. Christ, Jackson, have you even thought about _any_ of this? Did you even _look_ at the course catalog I gave you?" His lack of response must have told her everything she needed to know, because she's throwing her hands upwards, skimming one through her hair before fixing her glare on him again._ This is probably a bad time to tell her how fuckin' hot she is when she's pissed._ "What if it's too late to register? Then this has all been pointless!" _Yeah, definitely a bad time._ "If you can't take any classes, you've blown your deal with JT and as if that's not bad enough-"

"Tara, calm down." Shit, he hadn't thought it was going to be this big of a deal- not to her, and not in general.

"_Calm down_?" Okay, that had probably not been the right thing to say. "Jackson, this isn't about me, or how _calm_ I am. This is about _you_, and how you don't seem to give a shit at all." He studies her a moment, the way her brow's furrowed sharply, how her plump lower lip- trapped between her teeth- is still trembling. Christ, she's not just pissed, she's _upset_, trying not to cry.

He'd told himself two years ago- during all that mess with Clay when he'd walked out on her, however briefly- that if he could help it, she'd never cry because of him again. Looks like he'd broken that promise…. But for what? She's really this upset over some fucking appointment? Quickly, Jax looks around and curses under his breath; they're in the middle of the damn parking lot- not ideal. He spies a few picnic tables in a small grassy area near the front entrance and takes Tara's hand, tugging her towards him; she resists momentarily, then follows his eyes to the tables and lets him pull her along behind him, reluctantly.

Sighing, Jax sinks down onto the weathered, splintered wood, maintaining his grip on Tara's hand so that she's forced to plunk down next to him instead of across the table, on the other bench. He waits a moment as her green eyes flash and seem to focus on something at the other end of the lot; then- when she holds them there, purposefully not looking in his direction- he extends a forefinger to gently turn her chin towards him.

"Babe. I'll figure it out-" Tara huffs out a sharp breath, averts her eyes briefly until he continues. "I _will_. Why are you so upset about this? I fucked up _my_ meeting, not _yours_-"

"Baby, you couldn't have made it clearer that you don't give a shit about this. Trust me, _point made._ But if you don't keep your end of the deal with JT, who knows what happens, then? He won't let you prospect until you do, and this could throw off our whole schedule we had planned." She looks down at their joined hands, then, and bites her lip momentarily before continuing.

"Besides that, there's the fact that my dad's been giving me a hard time about this, says he isn't going to be able to drop everything and drive my ass over here every day. If you're not here with me, this-" she gestures towards the double doors "doesn't happen." _Jesus Christ, of course Rick fucking Knowles has to make things difficult…_ "He went back to drinking in Lodi again, Jackson- did you know that?" Mutely, Jax shakes his head; why hadn't she said something? Correctly reading his expression, Tara continues.

"I didn't say anything because it didn't fucking _matter_ before now; he'd been doing so well, had his early route, went over to the Dog in the evening... but he was always back even if it was late. I don't know what changed; maybe those Aryan guys that used to give him trouble are back, I don't know. I don't really _care_, because he doesn't tell me shit; all I know is that Monday night, he told me not to wait up. Tuesday morning, he wasn't back; I didn't see him until that night when I had to get him to sign this permission slip- "she waves her own pink slip of paper. "He said I better not be planning on him giving me a lift over here, because he's taking the afternoon shift and is probably going to just stay over in Lodi if it gets late."

"That makes no goddamn sense, Tara-"

"It's an excuse, Jackson. Who knows when he's actually working or when he's just planning on warming his stool at the bar? Anyway, it doesn't matter. My point is… either we do this together, or I can't do it at all." Then, she really is crying, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin as she looks upwards and blinks several times, clearly trying to stem the flow. Jax just feels sick to his stomach; _Christ_, but seeing her that way hasn't gotten any easier. He reaches for her, cradles her cheeks in his hands, swipes at her tears with his thumbs while reminding himself to breathe.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tara closes her eyes again, a few remaining tears dripping off her lower lashes to join the rivulets that had formed moments ago. Then, they're open again, searching his own, their deep green wavering behind a layer of moisture.

"I didn't want this to be about _me_," Tara says, desperately, shrugging away his hands, which were still resting on her face. "I know your dad's the reason you're doing this in the first place, but I didn't want me to be the reason you show up every day." Jax shrugs, allows himself to chuckle a bit.

"Face it, Babe, you're the reason I do most of the shit I do. Why should this be any different?" Tara shakes her head, doesn't share in his laughter.

"That's not what I meant. I know all of this- you, here, the promises you made your dad- is you doing what you think you have to do so that we can be together. And I love you for it-" now her hand is on his cheek "-_so much,_ Baby. But you're one of the smartest people I know," Jax snorts, but she ignores it, "There's so much you can do, even as a Son, but you have to want it for yourself. You might be taking these classes because you think you have to, but I know you better than that, Jackson. You have opinions, thoughts, talents… and I think that once you get a taste of what it's like when you really give in and let everyone else see you how_ I_ see you, you'll get a lot more out of the classes you take than just keeping your dad happy." Tara lets her fingers drift from his cheek, but Jax stops their movement with his own hand and drags them to his lips to press a brief kiss there. "I just…" a flash of regret crosses her face, "I just didn't want you to show up here every day just because you're my ride, or just because you're trying to keep your father off your back." Jax does his best to give her what he hopes is a reassuring smile- though he can't promise her any of that at the moment.

"How long did you think I'd go without knowin' somethin' was up? With your dad, I mean." Tara shrugs, listlessly. "We're better _together_, Tara; you don't have to do this alone. When will you figure that out?" She gives him a weak smile, then, swipes at the moisture on her cheeks.

"Just promise me you'll do this for _you_\- choose something you like and stop worrying about me, JT, Opie, the garage…" She pauses, her face darkening. "I mean,_ if_ they can still get you in." Jax snorts, waving his hand.

"I'll figure it out, Babe. But it's-" he checks his watch "-almost one. We better make sure at least one of us shows up, don't you think?" This time, Tara's the one that chuckles, and he leans in briefly to rest his forehead on hers. "I love you, you know that?" He can feel her nod against him. Then-

"That's the one thing in my life these past two years that I've never doubted." Unable to resist, Jax darts his tongue out to run against the seam of her lips… then pulls back, smirking as Tara's lips part and her eyes flutter closed.

"Let's go."

* * *

"My calendar says you were scheduled for Wednesday, Mr. Teller." The advisor- a Mrs. Fay, who is a fairly severe-looking woman in a pressed pant suit- is eyeing Jax from behind her desk and taking in his SAMCRO hoodie, the hair that's now brushing the collar of his Teller-Winston shirt, before arriving at a conclusion. Evidently, it isn't a positive one, based on the thinly-veiled disdain that begins emanating from her every word.

"I know, I'm sorry. My girlfriend and I, we-" Jax halts as she waves him off and pushes a volume of familiar brown newspaper print towards him- _COURSE CATALOG _printed at the top in bold letters. Christ, why hadn't he at least looked at the one Tara had given him? Gingerly, he flips it open to a random page about two thirds of the way through; Fay shakes her head in exasperation.

"Classes that far into the catalog are for upperclassmen, Mr. Teller; there are almost always prerequisites. You'll want to look for something much closer to the beginning." She glares at him a moment before twisting in her desk chair and tapping at the keyboard of the white, plastic, behemoth of a computer that resides on the opposite side of her desk.

"Uh… what about an automotive class?" he asks, tentatively. Mrs. Fay doesn't look up, merely makes a small noise under her breath before responding.

"Those classes are reserved for students who have already enrolled in our automotive technology program with a goal of ASE certification. Unless you're looking for an evening class on basic maintenance?" Jax shakes his head, though he knows she can't see him, and waits several more seconds before she clears her throat and turns back to him with a look that unmistakably says _I told you so_. "I took the liberty of checking the status of our Beginning English Comp classes- nouns, verbs, that sort of thing. If you're interested, there are two that fit your desired schedule-"

"No thanks." Jax cuts her off, shortly, causing Fay to raise an eyebrow. "Sorry to ask, but have you even bothered to look at my transcripts? I mean, that _is_ why you're here, isn't it? To _advise_ me? Tell me which classes would be best to take based on my strengths, that kind of shi-, uh, thing?" To her credit, the advisor colors, briefly, then rifles through the stack of papers on her desk, selecting one and reading silently, a moment.

"I see you've graduated early from CHS then…" she observes, eventually, her eyes fixed on the paper. "Good to excellent grades in everything Language Arts, fair in Auto Shop, Psychology, and Government… less than fair but passing in everything else." Jax nods again, briskly.

"Right. So you can see why I wouldn't have a need to take Beginner's English Comp." She looks at him- really looks at him- for the first time, then, her expression softening a bit as she releases the sheet of paper from her grasp and presses a burgundy fingernail to her chin. Jax considers asking her if it had been the T-W shirt or the SAMCRO hoodie that had led her to believe he was some barely-literate thug, but bites his tongue as Fay moistens a finger and flips through the catalog herself, seemingly bent on locating a particular page. When she finds it, she taps a section towards the middle.

"If you're wanting to find your niche- even if you're simply wanting to test the waters or get in a few general credits should you decide to enroll in the automotive technology program- I suggest starting with something that interests you. How does Film Analysis strike you?" Jax wrinkles his nose; Jesus, analyzing the motivations of Hans Gruber or Sarah Connor would probably fuckin' ruin his favorite movies. The woman holds up her hands at his reaction, "Alright, enough said. Fiction Writing?" Jax rubs his neck, thoughtfully.

"I mean… I write- a lot, actually. But it ain't fiction." The advisor nods, pursing her lips.

"Well, Fiction is a prerequisite for Nonfiction Writing. But perhaps before you're tasked with finding your own voice, you might want to start by exploring others…" she drifts off- turning another page or two and studying the words upside-down- before landing on another heading. "_True Stories: the Memoir_." She taps the paragraph with a nail and nods at Jax; it's a moment before he gets the hint- she wants him to read the description.

_"Students will explore the history of the memoir- from Augustine to Anne Frank, to Angelou- and provide creative-critical responses, culminating in a final creative project of the student's own choosing."_

He'd heard of Augustine's Confessions, his regrets about his sinful youth, from Chibs, actually- who, like any good Catholic boy, had been compelled to confess the same to various priests over the years. Tara had read the Diary of Anne Frank, he was pretty sure, and as for Angelou, well… his best guess about her is that she was a philosopher or some shit; that he doesn't really care about. It's the idea of the final creative project that really catches his interest- one that requires introspection, which you couldn't really fuck up, could you? Words about your own thoughts and experiences? That's practically a given where he's concerned.

"I… I guess that could work." Fay lets a small, satisfied smile creep onto her features, and Jax has to admit that she looks much less severe this way, now that she's looking at him like he's a person and not some biker/mechanic/thug specimen that's found his way into her office.

By the time he takes his leave, Jax is clutching a printed class schedule and feeling… well, that he doesn't know. He has to admit, two of his classes appeal to him, fundamentally- though that doesn't mean they'll be particularly useful whenever he eventually starts over at the garage full-time. Still, JT had suggested he _see what else is out there_ and if there's anything further from oil changes and transmissions, it's _True Stories: the Memoir_.

He finds Tara sitting at a large round table in the spacious common area outside the advising offices, thumbing through a large, hardcover book. All traces of her earlier tears are gone as she closes the book and beams at him.

"Biology I" Jax observes, reading the title of her book. "Jesus, Babe, you don't waste any time, do you?" Tara shrugs, her smile brightening as she recounts her appointment.

"They gave me my books already- I guess they have the ones for the nontraditional students ready to go in the transitions counselor's office. Biology I, with lab; Organic Chemistry, with discussion section; and Rhetoric. We thought it would be best to get the first two out of the way so I can take Molecular Biology sooner rather than later, since it all sort of fits together; it's a progression, I guess. But my professor for Biology also happens to be the one who sets up the internships for the various science majors, and he was just finishing up a meeting with a student so the counselor let us use his office to talk about it a little. If I get decent grades, I can start the internship at the beginning of the summer." Tara's eyes are shining, this time with excitement- her cheeks pink as she tells him her news. This is Tara in her element, he knows; surrounded by others who share the same goals, similar strengths, presented with opportunities she more than deserves.

"What?" Tara interrupts Jax's thoughts, her head angled curiously, a soft smile on her lips.

"Nothin'. I was just thinking about how cute you are when you're excited like thi-" She shuts him up with a backhand to the chest. Then, the smile dies on her lips as worry clouds her eyes.

"Shit, Jackson, I didn't even ask you about your appointment. Did they let you register?" Smirking, Jax lets the printout- perforated strips still attached- flutter to the table in front of her. Tara seizes it at once, her eyes widening as she reads the list and brief descriptions. "Ohh, this Memoir class sounds so perfect for you. I can't believe you actually-"

"Listened to you?" Jax finishes drily.

"Well… sort of. And Interpretation of Literature- that sounds like you, too." Jax waves her off.

"Just a prerequisite for pretty much any other Literature class they offer. That and Rhetoric, which is basically _How to read college shit, and then talk about it to a bunch of other idiots who'd rather not be there_." Tara rolls her eyes; then- a flash of realization crossing her face- grabs at her own schedule.

"I have Rhetoric too! Let me see… There. Building 523, Mondays at three. It says the TA is… an A. Gerard?" Jax retrieves his own schedule, a smile slowly curling his lips as he reads it.

"Monday, three o'clock, Building 523. A. Gerard."

"We have a class together! I never thought that would happen, not when I'm taking these science classes and you have English…"

"Everyone has to take it, according to the advisor lady. She said that's why it's only an hour once a week." Tara shakes her head, dark hair striking her cheeks.

"Oh, I don't care, Jackson, I'm just happy I'll have at least an hour a week with you." Jax shakes his head- does she really think that, now that they're both taking some stupid classes, he's going to sacrifice his time with her?

"Nah, you're stuck with me, Babe." Tara smiles, then, spurring him on. "I was thinkin', no matter what time we finish up here every afternoon, I'll wait- study or some shit, I don't know… then we can spend some time together after." Jax thinks he sees relief in her eyes, but it's followed quickly by apprehension.

"I'll…" Tara swallows. "I'll have to study. A_ lot_; more than I ever did before. I _have_ to do well, Baby, make sure I give myself every chance possible to get a scholarship-" She's biting her lip, clearly nervous he'll… Christ, he doesn't know what she's thinking right now.

"Tara, I know. What, about anything I just said, gives you the idea that I'm not gonna do what I can to make this work?" Tara just shrugs and takes his hand.

"Nothing. I just… wanted you to know what to expect, I guess." Jax nods, then stands, keeping her hand in his.

"You wanna get outta here? Something tells me we're gonna be here enough in the next few months." Tara grins, then, the excitement she'd shown minutes before returning; no doubt at the thought of them, together, facing their futures. And Jax finds- as they head out into the winter sunshine- that he can't help but feel it, too.

* * *

It's nearly closing time by the time Jax rolls onto the Teller-Winston lot, and although he can't help feeling a bit downcast- like he's arriving at work after a long weekend away from it- Tara's with him, here, for the first time since the Grand Reopening party. That means his day today's already head and shoulders above any other he's spent here recently. As if on cue, the office door jerks open and Piney shuffles out, nodding at them briefly before bellowing in the general direction of the bays.

"Alright, boys, close 'er down! That Buick ain't goin' nowhere until that alternator comes in tomorrow morning anyhow." Then, barely missing a beat, Piney quickens his step to cross the lot and pull Tara into a hug, practically shouldering Jax out of the way. Asshole, Jax thinks, affectionately. Tara's always been just about the only one that can make Ope's old man actually crack a smile on a regular basis, and that doesn't look to be changing any time soon.

"Hey Piney." Her voice is muffled by Piney's faded denim kutte, but he soon pulls away to hold her at arm's' length.

"Ain't seen ya much lately, little girl. Ya been alright?" Tara shakes her head, grinning.

"I was here at the party a few weeks back-"

"Speakin' of… got the sign put in." Piney jerks a thumb over a broad shoulder and Tara good naturedly peers around him to check out the red and gold WINSTON that now follows the familiar TELLER. Jax has to admit, seeing Ope and Piney's last name up there next to his own, well… it feels good, like that's how it always should have been; would have been had Clay not been the one willing to front the cash to open the garage in the first place.

"It looks good up there Piney," Tara's saying, softly. "You deserve it." Piney just clears his throat and regards her intensely for a moment, completely ignoring Jax and maintaining his grip on Tara's shoulders.

"Your old man… he doin' alright? I ain't seen the Cutlass around much, either." His voice is gruff as he changes the subject and Jax knows what he's really asking; Piney doesn't give a shit how Rick Knowles is, he just wants to make sure the man's behaving at home. Tara just shrugs- she's used to this line of questioning from Piney.

"He's fine. He's been drinking over in Lodi again, but when I see him, he's about the same as usual." Piney rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll bet." He jerks his head towards the office. "John and I need to have another chat with him about gettin' behind the wheel loaded?" Tara shakes her head and rests her palm on a meaty hand.

"No, but thank you. He's been staying over there most nights, shows up sober after work to shower." Jax snorts. Yeah, shower and hassle his only daughter about some shit that would make any other parent proud as fuck… At the sound, Piney glances at him for the first time since he'd walked out here, drops his hands from Tara's shoulders, and gives Jax a stiff backhand to the chest.

"This one been behavin'?" _Christ…_ Jax takes a step forward.

"I swear to God, old man…"

"Was I askin' you?" Piney swats him again, then returns his attention to Tara, who's laughing fit to kill.

"He's been a perfect gentleman, Piney. You don't need to worry about us." Piney's the one that snorts, now, narrowing his eyes at Jax as he backs away, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I've known that little jackass way too long to believe _that_." He extracts a pack of Reds from his kutte pocket and points it at Jax in warning before turning and making his way over to the picnic tables. Jax can only shake his head.

"Jesus Christ… why do I feel like between Piney and your old man, Piney's the one more likely to actually try to kick my ass some day? " Tara's laughing again, and he can't resist grabbing her around the waist and burying his face in her neck to place several, smacking kisses there. "A perfect gentleman, huh?" She squirms as he nips gently at her pulse point before smiling against her smooth skin.

"Well maybe not _perfect_…"

"_You're_ perfect," is all Jax can respond to her breathless words, and then he sets about driving her crazy in earnest. He's busy working the skin just below her ear with tongue and teeth when he hears his father's voice.

"Alright, alright, break it up…" Jax sags against Tara momentarily- mouths one last kiss on her cheek as he leaves his own personal heaven too early for the second time today- and reluctantly regards JT, his head resting on top of Tara's, refusing to let her go.

"Can I help you?" Jax knows his tone of voice is short, exasperated, but his father's just going to have to understand. JT angles his head, knowingly, then jerks it towards the clubhouse doors.

"Been helpin' all week, from what I understand. Let your old man buy you a beer?" Tara's arms tighten around his waist, briefly, then she's grabbing his hand and pulling him behind her to meet JT halfway- there'd been a lot of that lately, meeting halfway. Just like Piney had, JT lights up as Tara nears him. "Hey darlin'." He throws an arm around her shoulders, leaving Jax to trot along on the other side as they pass Piney's perch at the picnic tables. Lot of that lately, too, he thinks, chuckling as they reach the clubhouse doors and enter its relative darkness.

"What's with you and Piney tryin' to steal my girl today?" Jax teases as he settles onto a bar stool. JT snorts, releasing Tara so she can sit next to Jax, and rounds the bar top to step behind it. He pulls a few bottles of beer from the refrigerator and pops two, sliding one down the bar to Jax and pointing the other at Tara, his eyebrows raised. She nods, and JT slides it to her before opening one of his own; he takes a pull before responding.

"Can't speak for Piney, but I ain't tryin' to steal your girl, Son." JT's eyes are twinkling as he regards the two of them, thoughtfully. "I_ do_ want to know how your advisor shit went today, though." He takes another pull of the beer and leans on the bar top before tilting his head at Tara. "Jackson told me you were gonna have quite the heavy load this semester." Tara sits up a little straighter, a smile playing at her lips as she eagerly tells JT about the classes she's taking over at the high school and the new ones she'd signed up for just today.

Jax just watches her practically bubble over with excitement; the way she lights up when she talks about this shit is something he'll never understand, but he supposes it's the way he looks when he talks about... well, he guesses his bike, maybe the day he'll patch into SAMCRO. But other than that, he can't think of anything he loves as much as Tara loves this start towards achieving her goals. Except, of course, Tara herself.

"Jesus, you really like all this science stuff, don't you?" Tara just bites her lip and nods, still with that pleased smile on her face. JT shakes his head, grinning at her like she'd just expressed an interest in restoring his Panhead. "Ya know… at this rate, we're gonna have to start gettin' used to callin' you Doctor Knowles." _Doctor Teller._ Both JT and Tara glance at him, strangely- _Christ had he said that out loud?_ Then, the moment passes and Tara's blushing and holding up a hand.

"That's at least eight years away." JT just shrugs and takes another pull of his beer.

"Fine- _Doc_, then, " he teases, before shifting his attention to Jax. "You get signed up, too?"

"Yup." Jax stands a bit and digs around in his pocket, tosses his folded schedule onto the bar near his father's beer bottle. He takes a casual sip of his own beer as JT smoothes the creased paper- but the alcohol doesn't quite push down the bit of nervous anticipation that creeps in, unbidden, as his father looks over the choices he'd made for the rest of the year and raises his eyebrows. _Christ, why isn't he saying anything?_Then, his father's grinning and waving the printout between Jax and Tara.

"Two a' you couldn't've picked anything a little more different from the other?" JT jokes, not giving either of them time to answer before he continues. "You took my advice to pick somethin' completely unrelated to the garage to heart, then, didn't you, Son?" Jax swallows, remembering his feeble attempt to enroll in some automotive shit- hell, his attempt to register at all had been pretty fuckin' feeble- not that he'll ever admit that to his father. If JT notices his unease, he doesn't say so, just places the printout back on the bar top and looms over it, bracing his arms on the bar sink and growing thoughtful again as he regards Jax with… Jax doesn't know quite what the look on his father's face is. Satisfaction? Pride? Whatever it is, JT's nodding as he points to a line on the schedule. "Literature Review will be a good way to branch out, Son; lots of different perspectives, lots of different ways to respond to them. But this Memoir class? What made you pick it?"

"I just sort of fell into it, I dunno," Jax responds, honestly. "Advisor lady asked what I was into but the only writing class that a first year can take is Fiction Writing, and… that just ain't me, Dad." JT shakes his head, ruefully.

"Yeah, I could see that. You and I, well, we're a lot alike that way. I mean, I _think_ so anyway- I still ain't sure what you're always writin' on those notepads you pinch from me." Jax reddens- both his father and Tara are looking at him, curiously- but he reminds himself that if anyone understands his compulsion to jot down his thoughts, it's his father.

"Not anything specific… just shit I think about, shit I want to think about later… I dunno." He shrugs as JT seems to accept this.

"I don't think either of us are gonna write the Great American Novel, Son. But writin' stuff down, it's always been my way to… reflect, I guess." Jax nods, takes a sip of his beer before responding.

"Yeah, and the lady said that before I try to find my own voice, it might be good to read others'. So I get that, and I'm interested in the classes and all, Dad- which is good because if it was some math bullshit or somethin'…" he shrugs, lets his father reach his own conclusions. "But I still don't get how this is supposed to help me, Dad-" JT opens his mouth, but Jax holds up a hand. "I know, I'm supposed to see what else is out there. But-"

"_John!_" Christ, a shot may as well have rang out in the clubhouse; Gemma's voice is knife-sharp and halts all conversation as she makes her way towards the bar from the door to the lot. "You got a call. Office line." JT raises his eyebrows, gestures to Jax and Tara.

"Can Piney handle it? I'm-"

"No,_ Piney_ can't handle it." Gemma's voice is withering... deadly. "It's that Irish tart, she's got some plan to come visit, bring your daughter to meet her brother." _Holy shit. Trinity's coming here?_ Jax can feel his heart catch a bit at the thought- of being a brother to someone besides Ope for the first time since Tommy died. Then, the rest of what his mother had said registers… and from the look on his father's face- a little confused, a lot ill- that little tidbit of information had taken hold for JT, too; _Maureen's coming as well_. JT runs a hand down his face, fingers catching in his beard as he closes his eyes momentarily; then, they snap open and focus on Gemma, who's now standing at the far end of the bar, her arms tightly folded, tension radiating from her body in the form of a size nine high heeled boot tapping furiously on the wood floor.

"Gem-"

"_You handle this, John,_" Gemma interrupts, glaring at him. "_We're_ the ones that made the rules almost twenty years ago, but the _what happens on a run stays on a run_ shit, well… we both know we rewrote the rules when it comes to us a long time ago, no matter what I gotta tell the other women who hang around this club. I think I've been pretty goddamn understanding when it comes to Trinity...and I know none of this shit is her fault; her comin' to visit, it was only a matter of time. But her gash of a _mother_, comin' to Charming… there's only so understanding I can be."

Jax watches as JT works his jaw, seemingly trying to come up with something to say, but Gemma continues, even more fiercely this time.

"The run rule… all of that was supposed to protect the women- protect_ me_\- from the blowback that always fuckin' happens when men start thinkin' with their dicks. But _her_ comin' here, it throws all that shit- the sting of that betrayal- right back in my face. So you go talk to her and you handle this, John. You tell her Trinity's welcome in my home, in my family, 'cause that's how it's gotta be. You and I… we settled our shit over a year ago. But Maureen? I better not see hide nor tits of that bitch in my town or near my goddamn _family_."

"Or what, Gem? You gonna kill her or somethin'?" _Jesus Christ, is JT suicidal?_ Jax glances at Tara, whose mouth is hanging open, braces himself for the shit storm that's to come- but to his surprise, Gemma just laughs mirthlessly and raises an eyebrow at his father.

"You never know what I might do." JT doesn't bother responding, just drains his beer and tosses the bottle in the cardboard box behind the bar before sighing and heading out the clubhouse door.

The only sounds Jax can hear immediately after the door swings shut are his own heartbeat and Tara's breathing. Jesus, he'd known the idea of his mother and Maureen ever occupying the same space was fucking terrifying- it's like a powder keg ready to explode, actually- but really, what did Gemma expect? That they'd ship an eight year old kid off on some international flight by herself? Besides, doesn't she have school or some shit? Jax has to admit he's not up to speed on the ins and outs of the Irish school year, but it's a fair assumption that Trinity's probably going to have to get back to Belfast sooner rather than later.

"You get your registration shit done today, Jackson?" Gemma's voice- distant and still angry from what he can tell- breaks into his thoughts… but thank God it's got nothing to do with any of what's just been on his mind. Yeah, if there's one topic of conversation that will make him eager to talk about college classes with his mother, it's Maureen Ashby.

"Yep. Schedule's right here if you wanna look." Jax retrieves the paper from the bar and holds it in his mother's direction; she takes it and squints at it a moment before holding it at arms' length. "Christ, Ma, when are you gonna go get your eyes checked?" Gemma glances at him out of the corner of her eye and smirks.

"When I'm old enough to be seen wearing reading glasses," Gemma snarks. "_Asshole…_" Then, she's studying his schedule a moment before handing him back the paper and raising a severe eyebrow. "These classes… you think they're gonna help you get where you need to be to achieve your goals?" Jax just shrugs; it would help if any of them could actually agree on what the fuck his goals are supposed to be… "This shit looks real interesting, Jackson, and you'll do great- I mean that." Gemma raises her chin and curls a finger underneath his own to study him a moment before continuing. "You just don't lose sight of who you are." His mother's hazel eyes seem to be boring into the depths of him, searching for something he's not sure she's going to find- and then, she's clicking back towards the clubhouse door without a word. Christ, if there's anything more unsettling than Gemma Teller giving you a piece of her mind, it's her silence.

"Well that went well," Tara says, drily, focusing intently on picking the label off her beer bottle. Jax shakes his head.

"Yeah, _what_ went well? The part where my mother basically threatened the life of my dad's ex-... _whatever-she-was_? Or the part where she told me to remember who I am- whatever the fuck _that_ means…" Tara turns to face him, then, abandoning the beer bottle to brush her fingers against his upper arm, appearing to choose her words carefully.

"She was right about one thing, Jackson; you can't lose sight of who you are... but you have to figure out who that is for yourself." Jax shakes his head a bit, a reluctant smile crossing his lips at the sheer sincerity with which she's just addressed him.

"Well, one thing I do know about who I am, is that Jax Teller loves Tara Knowles… and I ain't never losin' sight of that."

Then, the moment is lost as the clubhouse door swings open and hits the wall. Jax reluctantly breaks away from Tara's gaze to see JT stalking back across the room; he's at the bar before Jax notices the set of small silver keys still lying on the bar top.

"Headed out?" JT freezes, his fingers closed around the keys, but it only lasts a moment before he's moving again, shoving both hands in his pockets before responding.

"Yeah, pretty soon. Your mom's already on her way home, figured it was better to have it out there rather than here. Again. You stayin' here for Chibs' birthday thing?" Jax nods, the kernel of the idea he'd been mulling over for weeks solidifying in his mind with this most recent development; there's no way he's going to go home tonight and walk into that minefield- especially since he'd been subjected to it once already today. "Well, Tig and Otto convinced him to have a few beers here and then head down to the strip club. You hang out here as long as you want, but the entry age over there is 21 and I don't think even Piney's old enough to see the shit they got down at the Jellybean." Jax raises an eyebrow.

"Meaning…"

"Meaning, they head out to go down there, you head home." _Well, now's as good a time as any,_ Jax thinks.

"We got no interest in the Jellybean… but there's no way I'm coming home, Dad. I'll stay in the apartment." JT snorts.

"Probably a safe bet for tonight." He rubs a hand over his face wearily. "Mo says they're comin' as soon as they can swing it- her, Keith, and Trinity. They're stayin' over with the Fresno charter to avoid a lot of awkwardness… and the fact is, I can't stop 'em. I also can't expect 'em to just ship Trini over her on her own; I'm just gonna have to figure out how to keep her- _and me_\- out of your mom's crosshairs while they're here." Jax shakes his head. The whole thing is shit he's just not interested in being in the middle of; if it's up to him, he'll meet his sister and be done with it. In the meantime, there are more pressing matters… JT's headed towards the door again by the time Jax finds his voice.

"I wasn't just talkin' about tonight, Dad." His father stops and shakes his head a little, confused.

"I'm not following."

"When I said I ain't comin' home; I didn't just mean for tonight. I mean, this shit goin' on with Maureen and Ma pretty much just made the decision for me, but I've been thinkin' about it for a while. I'm eighteen- goin' to college, workin' here at the garage… it's _time_, Dad." Jax chances a glance at Tara, whose eyes are widening in surprise. "You and Mom ain't used the apartment in months, except for the night we dedicated the sign. I know I'm not a prospect yet, but the apartment's a _family_ thing, not a club thing, and you can take some money out of whatever you pay me, mornings, for rent. I'll be closer to the college and Tara, since I'll be givin' her a ride to her classes. " Jax stems the seemingly never-ending flow of words from his mouth momentarily; JT hadn't said anything since he'd started talking and Tara's still staring. _Oh, right- shit, should have said that first._ "Oh, and that way, once Trinity gets here, she can stay in my room." At this, JT furrows his brows, the first real reaction he's had to any of what Jax had said.

"There's Thomas' room-"

"You run that by Mom?" One look at JT's face tells Jax his instinct had been right; it's a moment before his father answers him, his jaw working in that way it does when he's coming to a decision.

"You stay here for tonight-" JT says finally, pointing at Jax, "and maybe for a little while, see how it goes. That gives me a chance to run all this by your mother." _Of course Gemma's got to have a say..._ "Movin' out is a big step, Jackson, and I ain't about to end-around her when it comes to that. But for now…" JT's voice trails off as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. "Make sure you lock the door. I got a key and the other one's in the cash register; you take that one." Jax heaves a sigh of relief and nods at his father. "The guys should be showin' up any minute now. I'm gonna lock up the office, come back and have a drink with Chibs, and then I got to go smooth things over with your Ma." All Jax can do is laugh- partially at the look on his father's face, but mostly because this, at least, had gone so much better than he'd anticipated.

"Yeah, good luck with that."

* * *

Jax had long since lost count of how many beers he'd had, but a pleasant buzz blurs the edges of the apartment… and makes stretching the fresh sheets across the bed just difficult enough. He calls it good after the fitted sheet is on and pulls a pillowcase on over the existing ones. The flat sheet and the new, cotton blanket, he shakes out and floats over the bed as best he can; then, shrugging, he kicks off his shoes and strips off his hoodie, t-shirt, and jeans before peeling back his handiwork and sliding under the covers.

Dropping his plan to move into the apartment on JT had gone better than expected; however, Tara hadn't mentioned it all evening- although, it hadn't been difficult to talk her into staying here with him mere minutes ago. The guys had trooped into the clubhouse for beers seconds after JT had gone to lock the office, and it had been a fairly relaxed evening of shooting pool and drinking without much time alone with his girl, though he loved watching her interact with his future brothers. Whether she was laughing with Kozik and Otto, embarrassing Tig at pool until he stalked off in frustration, or talking quietly with Chibs about who-knows-what, Jax can't help but feel everything is falling into place in at least one area of his life.

"Jackson?"

Jax starts a bit, Tara's voice bringing him out of his thoughts. She's leaning against the doorframe of the en suite bathroom, perhaps a little unsteadily- he guesses she's probably just as buzzed as he is. He takes a moment to drink her in- the way her cheeks are flushed behind the tendrils of dark hair that line them, the way she's biting her lip; her perfect body, still encased in jeans and the tank top she'd likely been wearing underneath his flannel shirt all day… faced with the prospect of a night all alone with her in the- his- apartment, Jax feels his cock twitch. He doesn't think he's ever wanted her more.

"-wear to bed?" _Huh?_ Evidently, Tara isn't oblivious to his hungry stare- or the fact that he's completely zoned out her question- because she rolls her eyes and gestures to her jeans. "I said, what am I supposed to wear to bed? I wasn't prepared for-" His laugh stops her short, and he's pulling back the covers and sliding over as he reassures her-

"I don't think that'll be an issue, Babe." Jax can see the moment when what he's saying truly dawns on her, and she pinkens further as she crosses the room to stand next to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, Tara's fingers find the button of her jeans; he watches, swallowing thickly, as she threads the metal button through the loop. The zipper seems to slide down at a snail's pace and by the time she hooks her thumbs at her waistband, Jax can feel his cock growing heavy. Her hips swish from side to side as she lowers the jeans inch by agonizing inch until she's finally stepping out of them, revealing the long legs he's wanted to wrap around his waist all day.

Jax extends his hand in invitation, but Tara merely holds up a finger- _just wait,_ she seems to be saying. Then, she's unclasping her bra, sliding the straps down her shoulders, before wriggling out of it and threading it through the side of her tank top; he doesn't even see it drop to the floor, he's too focused on the swell of her breasts under her top, marred only by the puckered tips of the nipples he's itching to get his hands- or mouth- on. She kicks away the pile of their clothing on the floor, and then finally, finally, she's climbing onto the bed- he thinks she's rolling over top of him for a moment until she boosts herself up to stand over him.

"Babe, what the hell are you doing?" Not that he minds; Tara's got one foot planted on each side of his hips and is reaching up to the ceiling, causing her top to ride up and reveal the lacy hem of her panties and a creamy strip of skin just above them. She stills- arms still extended- and smiles down at him.

"Closing the vent." Jax can't help but run a hand up the back of each leg, fingers closing around the backs of her knees and tugging them forward. "_Jackson!_" Tara's too busy giggling to really focus on keeping her balance, so it takes him only one or two tries before she's tumbling forward and landing, straddling him, her mouth inches from his own.

"You're gonna wake up in an hour and tell me how cold it is in here, I _know_ you; the one vent's all we got-"

"I didn't close it because I was _hot_\- and don't even bother to make that joke, Teller- I closed it because I know as well as you do that any sound in here travels right through that vent and into the dorm room next door." Jax leans up to plant a kiss on her lips, then flops back down onto the pillow in mock exasperation.

"Well I'll be cold. And the place is deserted, so any _sound_ you were worried about carrying into the rest of the clubhouse ain't even an issue, Babe."

"We'll just call it a precaution. And I'm a little insulted you don't seem to think I can keep you warm." Jax smirks and runs his thumbs over the stiff peaks of her nipples, nodding down at them before responding.

"You don't seem too warm yourself, Babe, so how do you expect to do that?" Now she's smirking at him, stretching out so that the length of her body covers his, her legs sliding down his and her hips resting atop his own.

"_Like this_," she whispers, her lips millimeters from his own, the exhale of her breath heating them and the near-contact inducing sparks that zing their way down to his cock and back up again. She smiles- lips just barely brushing his- and wiggles her hips a bit, centering herself over him until he curses the barrier her shirt and panties and his boxers are providing.

"Survival experts suggest skin-to-skin contact…" Christ, he can't even focus enough on their banter to finish his thought; every last blood cell that's still in his brain seems to rush to points below as his hands- seemingly on their own volition- trace the graceful line of her spine beneath her tank top, sending a shiver through her body. Jax lets his fingers catch the hem of the shirt, drawing it towards her shoulders as she lifts a bit so he can pull it up and over her head; he tosses it away somewhere and then he's lost in the sensation of Tara's warm, soft chest meeting his already-exposed, harder one.

Another time, he'd probably have let the urgency he feels- the desperate surge of all his thoughts, all his sensations- take over. Now, though, he takes his time- revels in the privacy of the deserted clubhouse and the space he's finally claimed as his own- and lets his fingers drift over the curves and planes of her body, mapping out the contours of her while she presses herself into him. Tara's lips come seeking, open, pliant, and she's feeding him gentle kisses as his fingers resume their earlier path, drifting down her spine and back up, skimming over her shoulders until goosebumps prickle in the lamplight.

The subtle roll of her hips against the ridge of him causes him to jerk away from her mouth and suck in a breath; his eyes slam closed as she does it again, and _again_, until his mind is screaming, begging her for more… but Jax's eyes reopen to find hers, dilated with lust and yet uncertain for all her earlier teasing, and he's reminded for the first time that while they've practically fucked their way across Redwood, he's never had her here; not in the clubhouse- the site of almost every other encounter with a girl he'd ever had- and more importantly, not in his _own_ place. Suddenly, he's bent on reassuring her that she's it, for him.

"I love you so much," Jax whispers… because he does- because she needs to know that as often as he can tell her. Tara's eyes flutter closed at his admission and he rolls her gently underneath him, braces above her, and tells her again. "I love you," he brushes a kiss on her forehead; "I love you," one on each eye- "I love you"... and when he takes her mouth, it's with none of the usual urgency but with every bit of the desire he has for her.

His tongue seeks hers almost reverently, exploring every secret corner of her mouth- the silky inner lips, pearly teeth, the already-swollen bow of her upper lip, the plump pink of her lower. He could get lost in her mouth for hours, days, even… but he forces himself to move on, sucking gentle kisses under her chin and across that soft, soft skin to the spot where her pulse is thrumming crazily, matching his own. He drags his lower lip across her heartbeat, there- once, twice- before surrounding it with his teeth and drawing it into his mouth, almost as if he could draw her into him, keep her here with him forever. One slow pull and she's sighing into his ear, seizing it gently with her teeth, and whispering his words of love back to him.

"I love you, Jackson… _I'll never stop_…"

Jax realizes then, as he drags his tongue down the smooth column of her neck, that no matter how many times he says it, it will never be enough; no matter how many times he hears it, he'll never tire of those words- his _favorite_ words- crossing her lips. And so, he sets about showing her, with fingers and teeth, lips and tongue. He builds a pattern- ghosting his fingers across her collarbone and on down her chest, then following them with the scrape of his teeth- before soothing the faint pink trails with little suckling kisses. Her nipples receive the same treatment, and as he sucks the second into his mouth, Tara's small hands come up to card through his hair, her soft touch keeping his head where she wants him. Jax alternates between the two, mingling deep pulls with light nips, until he's satisfied that both are the same, wet, rosy red.

"Please, Jackson-" Tara's voice is breathy, almost desperate, her fingers tugging on the hair behind his ears as he slips his hand into her panties. "_Please…_" Her voice devolves into a sigh as he finds her- wet and silky smooth- and works her up, reminding himself to go slow, to savor this because he can, now. He's actually not sure if he's torturing her or himself; he can't help working his hips in counterpoint with his fingers, though he's currently pressed against her thigh, mere inches from where he wants to be. And then she's tugging- no, pulling- on his hair, harder than before, forcing him to lift his head and look into the green eyes she has fixed on him- wild and definitely desperate this time. "I need you, Jackson." Jax smirks, circling her with two fingers, trapping her nub between them as she sucks in a breath.

"You _got_ me, Babe." Tara shakes her head vigorously, though she pushes her hips against his hand.

"I need you _inside_ me."_ Oh fuck, yes._ All thoughts of going slow- of tasting her, of burying his head between her thighs until she's panting his name- vanish as her fingers drift down his bare back and inside the waistband of his boxers. He lurches up to claim her lips just as as she's claiming his ass, gripping both cheeks and setting him in motion against her- thrusting, panting, rolling, moaning... Until he just can't take it anymore and reaches between them to clutch desperately at her panties; he yanks at them, roughly, until one side gives way. A fleeting image of Tara scolding him appears, unbidden, then flees just as quickly when she ignores the panties and shoves his boxers down over his ass. Smiling, he helps her push them down completely and then he's smiling no more because she's wrapping her hand around his cock and pumping him slowly, steadily, and he's pretty close to losing his goddamn mind.

"_Tell me_, Baby…" she whispers, and_ God_ does he ever want to do as she asks- _anything_ she asks- but his brain just isn't making the connections it's supposed to, not when she's filling his mind, his heart, practically his fuckin' _body_ with nothing but her. Still, he mumbles something- anything- against her lips as he thrusts into her hand.

"God, Tara…. Do you have any idea how much I've wanted this, all day? My whole goddamn life?" She cocks an eyebrow- he can feel it- and responds in barely a whisper.

"Wanted _what_, Jackson?"

"This… _You_…" A few more firm strokes and then she's guiding him into her, into that warm, wet haven that feels like nothing else on this earth.

"_Tell me_…" And as Jax begins moving, he tells her; tells her how good she feels, how wet she is... but she doesn't respond except with the little moans and whimpers that he's sure are forever imprinted in his memory, will get him through any days and nights he has to spend without her in the years to come just as long as he can keep her heart with him always…. Until he says it again, immediately followed by the words neither of them knew they were waiting for.

"I love you… so _fuckin'_ much. You're _mine_, Tara, _tell me you're mine_…"

"I'm _yours_, Jackson, every part of me… because I love you... _and because you're mine_…"

Something in him seems to snap; well, something besides his self control- because he's now thrusting into her without abandon, circling his hips faster and faster as he can feel himself coiling tighter and tighter, her walls rippling around him. He thinks it's his goddamn _heart_, cracking open, pouring out the knowledge that he truly is hers and he always fuckin' will be.

"I'm yours, Tara, always. _Make me yours_…" She seizes the back of his head and pulls his mouth down to hers, but just as quickly drags her lips across his cheekbone as her low moan heats his ear and her release begins, triggering his own. Their hips clash, she's seizing his shoulder with her teeth and he's only dimly aware of the pain because he's riding out waves of pleasure, pulsing inside her over and over until he's got nothing more to give.

Minutes go by- minutes that settle his breathing, but not his heart- before Jax is able to move; and even then, all he can do is roll them to the side and press his forehead against hers, still joined together, his fingers trailing over her hip. Tara seems to be drifting, eyes half-closed, but she returns his slow kisses- mere mingling of breath and tongue, not belying the way his heart's still pounding and his mind's still racing. Heart wins out, but when Jax pulls back to search Tara's eyes, they're already closed. So he says the only word his brain can fathom, just then, and he says it with every last bit of what he feels for her behind it.

"_Stay_…"

Tara doesn't move except to breathe, and even that's slowing as the seconds pass. Then-

" M'right here Baby…"

He flinches a bit- that's not what he'd meant.

"No, stay with me. _Here_."

The ghost of her smile is his only answer.


	5. Ch 5

****I own nothing you recognize****

"Jackie Boy! Doc! Wake-up call! Ye both got a big meet with Trinity today!"

The voice- most definitely Chibs'- is quickly followed by a few loud raps, then a thud that makes the frame creak and the doorknob rattle- almost like an entire body's been thrown against the-

"Get the fuck outta bed! The Prince's subjects await-" Another thud and some muted scrabbling ensues. Then, Chibs' voice comes again, a low hiss this time.

"Knock it tha feck off, Tiggy. I keep tellin' ye- mess wit' Jackie all ye want in a couple o' months when he starts prospectin-"

"Ah, lighten up... Kid wants to stay in the clubhouse, he gets what we got to dish out. Ya know- since he's about to be a fuckin prospect, and _especially _since his daddy's John Teller."

"Doc ain't a prospect _or_ a legacy, arsehole. When she's here, you leave 'em alone."

"See, I dunno why you do that."

"Do wha'?" Comes Chibs' voice, exasperated.

"Call Tara _Doc_ like that. You and JT are gonna give the girl a complex... like she ain't already thinkin' she's somethin' special the way Jax acts like she's the only pussy worth his time anymore. "

"Jeeesus Christ, Tiggy..."

Chibs' voice trails off the further he gets down the hallway, though by the sounds of it, the scuffle resumes- with some good-natured shouting this time- before they get out to the main room of the clubhouse.

Tara sighs; that, right there, had been one reason she'd initially told Jackson no when he'd asked her to live in the apartment with him a few months ago.

He'd rolled over in bed that morning and immediately mumbled his question into her neck; the fact that he'd punctuated it with soft kisses had the word _yes _on the tip of her tongue... and she'd wanted, so badly, to be able to say it. In the end, though, she'd told him no, and the flash of hurt and disappointment that had clouded his eyes had her immediately explaining that her father would absolutely lose his shit at the idea of his seventeen-year-old daughter actually living in the SAMCRO clubhouse, regardless of how absentee he'd been. Jackson had been quick to point out that JT, Piney and even Chibs would take care of that, but in the end, Tara knew that just wasn't a fight she was willing to drag them into.

Her father, though, hadn't been the only reason she was hesitant; the image of Jackson, stumbling back to the apartment after a SAMCRO party, a croweater hot on his heels, was one that she'd been unable to shake. She knew it wasn't fair, knew he'd barely given the fairer sex the time of day since their argument about Melissa Rourke... but the ghosts of his previous encounters in that very clubhouse had come back to haunt her and she'd told him so.

_"Please, Babe..." Jackson's voice was muffled; with the question of her father settled, in his mind, he'd returned to pressing kisses to his favorite spot on Tara's neck. Kisses which were almost enough to make her forget the other reason she'd told him no. Almost._

_"This is only the second night I've spent in the clubhouse with you, ever, and I don't know if you remember what I told you the first night, but..." Tara swallowed, uncertain, as Jackson rolled to his back- breaking contact with her for the first time since they'd fallen into bed the night before. "It's just the way things get around here when the parties get crazy; I love most of the guys, but I hate how some of them treat women and I _hate _how some of those women walk around here and act like they own you and everyone else. It's blatantly disrespectful-"_

_"I never give any of 'em the time of day, Tara; you _know_ that. And to tell you the truth, I'd rather be with you, Ope and Donna, so we're outta here before most of 'em really show up anyway. They've left me alone practically since the week you showed up." Tara shook her head in frustration; why couldn't he just see that that's all about to change?_

_"If you move in here, that's a moot point, Jackson. You'll be here a lot more than you ever were, you'll live here; if any of those women think they can get to you, all they have to do is knock."_

_"No, Tara, that _ain't_ all; they'd have to knock. I'd have to open the door. I'd have to decide that ten minutes of... of _whatever_, with them, is worth more than a lifetime with you. And it just ain't." He shifted to press his forehead against hers, cupped her jaw with a big hand. "Nothing any of them could ever give me is worth even a minute- a second- spent with you, and there ain't a blonde in this world that could convince me otherwise." Tara knew he was being sincere, knew that he believed what he was saying with everything in him... but the tiny part of her buried deep inside that was left over from watching Melissa Rourke rub up on him and kiss him on the cheek with no reaction from him whatsoever- the part of her that knew as well as she knew her own name the women hanging around the clubhouse would potentially _never_ truly consider Jackson Teller off-limits- spoke up, despite the reassurances he gave her._

_"When you head back here to go to bed every night, when there's a girl for every Son-"_

_"See, that won't be an issue if you'll stay with me. What better way to get them to back off than giving 'em a constant reminder that you're mine?" Exasperated, Tara pushed against his chest to half sit up, caring little for the fact that the sheet had slipped down around her waist._

_"But who's gonna tell them that you're _mine_? If you think I'm gonna look the other way while they push up on you and you give them the Teller smirk and tell them "maybe later, Darlin'…" Tara let her voice drift off and watched understanding finally, _finally_ cross his face._

_"_I'll _tell 'em. You're my girl, Tara, and you're the one I love. If I have to tell 'em to back the fuck off because the most beautiful girl in the world is my Old Lady, I will." Jackson was suddenly seizing her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm before folding it back over his heart and looking earnestly in her eyes. "I promise, Babe; I don't want anyone but you, and they'll all know it."_

Jackson's kept his promise so far, Tara has to admit; she'd spent every night possible here with him- worked around her father's schedule as much as she could- and her presence seems to have kept the croweaters at bay... Though, just the sight of them- flirting from afar and sending him suggestive smiles, coupled with the memory of the redhead from his sixteenth birthday party informing her that Jackson Teller was the ultimate catch for any croweater- is still enough to twist her stomach. Still, nothing beats going to sleep and waking up in his arms; if there's one thing Tara's certain of, it's that the near-constant noise emanating from the main room of the clubhouse, the ribbing both she and Jackson (mostly Jackson) put up with, hell- even the croweaters- are all more than worth it.

As if to prove her point, Jackson's hand drifts lazily down her side; Tara's still curled into him- head tucked under his chin, a bare leg thrown over his hips- and she closes her eyes, wanting nothing more than to pull the comforter over their heads and just lose herself in him all day. Then, his voice rumbles beneath her cheek and its gravelly warmth only fuels her desire to nestle even further into that perfect place on his chest.

"I know you're awake, Knowles." Tara smiles, but says nothing in return. "Know how I know?" She stays silent- curiosity piqued since Jackson can't see her face in their current position- and he squeezes her tighter. "You make these cute little sounds at the end of every breath when you're asleep, but when you're quiet, I know you're awake." She smirks as he pulls her atop him, spanning his large hands on her back.

"Just how often do you watch me sleep, Teller? Don't you know that's a stalker move?" He narrows his eyes, matching her smirk with one of his own.

"Only every time you stay here with me, since you're always the first one to fall asleep. Guess I must wear you out or somethin'-" Tara's mouth drops open in mock outrage, but she can't quite keep the grin from teasing the edges of her lips.

"_Ass._" At the word, Jackson's hands skim down to her naked one and give each cheek a gentle squeeze.

"You offering?" His eyebrows raise, revealing the bright, teasing, blue of his eyes- not to mention those infuriatingly adorable lines at the corners of his mouth that only appear when he's quirking the corner of it like this- and she's tempted. _So _tempted... Then, she remembers the wake-up call that had roused her minutes ago and sighs, folding her arms on his chest and resting her chin there.

"You heard Chibs... it must be almost seven, meaning we have to get up and get going." Jackson's expression grows serious, studying her even as his hands continue to rest on her ass.

"Yeah, I heard him; I also heard Tig's dumb ass, and I'm assuming that's why you've been lying here lost in your thoughts for the past five minutes." Tara laughs softly, bobbing her head atop her folded hands.

"You know me so well, Teller."

"After nearly two years, I _better_. What's that big brain of yours thinking of that's got you so quiet?" Tara sighs, shrugs a little before answering.

"I don't know, just thinking about how being able to wake up with you like this is worth all the other..." She pauses, trying to put her finger on the right word, "_shit_, that comes with staying here." Jackson raises an eyebrow at this.

"_Shit_?"

"The noise- even though studying here is basically a lost cause. Making it work with my dad, even though he's probably going to start to wonder if Donna and I have a thing if I have to lie about one more sleepover." If possible, Jackson's brows shoot up even closer to his hairline, a smirk teasing the corners of his lips, but Tara just rolls her eyes. "Stop it, ass." He curls forward to drop a kiss on her forehead before dropping back onto the pillow, serious once again.

"You said it, not me, Babe... anything else?" From the look on his face, he knows the only thing she hasn't mentioned, knows Tig's commentary from earlier is the only reason they're having this conversation.

"The women, Jackson. If I never see Tig or Bobby with another half-naked girl in their laps, it'll be too soon. That, and the fact that there's always some new blonde trying to catch your eye..." She trails off as he sighs, fixing those blue eyes on her.

"Tara, you know I don't give them the time of day." She smiles, softly, moves her hands to place a kiss on his chest.

"I know that- I _do_. And that's what I'm saying, I guess. Even though Tig seems to think you could do better, even though there always seems to be some new croweater who doesn't know you're mine-" as always, her claiming him has a grin curling his lips despite their topic of conversation, "-every bit of it is worth _this_, right here." And then, he's hauling her up his body to fuse his mouth to hers, his tongue swirling inside it the moment their lips touch. Their legs tangle and she can feel Jackson hardening beneath her; she wants nothing more than to reach between them and take that hot, smooth skin and guide it home... but that would be sweet torture neither of them have time for, though it's another minute or two before she actually manages to drag her mouth from his. He doesn't let her go easily, trapping her lower lip between his teeth as she pulls away.

"Jesus Christ, Tara..." Jacson's breathing heavily, mere centimeters away, and he's guiding her head back to his when the ancient alarm clock begins blaring static into the relative quiet of the apartment. His head falls back on the pillow but his arms tighten around her and Tara watches the minute digit flip from :00 to :01 before she rolls off him, groaning. "Of course that damn thing decides to work today."

Tara bites her lip to hide a smile as she slides out of bed, nude, and makes sure to put a little extra sway in her hips as she heads to the en suite, knowing he's watching her- at least half-hard- as she goes.

"I'll make it up to you later, Teller," she calls over her shoulder," but you get to meet your sister today and Donna will be here in a half hour." Tara can't help but grin as she recognizes the frustration in his groan when she closes the bathroom door behind her; it has little to do with their plans today and everything to do with the state she'd left him in.

* * *

"If you'll all turn in your anthology to page three hundred and ninety-four, you'll see the list of selections for our study on symbolism." The instructor pauses, waiting for the ruffle of pages to die down before continuing. "I'm about to break you into groups of three; amongst your group, choose one of the three stories each-" he raises his glasses to scan the room "-so we don't have twenty-one assignments on _The Things They Carried_, which seems to be an eternal favorite."

Half the class chuckles- including Jackson, to Tara's slight surprise; rarely in high school had she seen him actually participate in class; primarily, he'd seemed to have been there to aggravate his teachers and engage himself in turning her on so thoroughly with constant whispers and touches that she was willing to indulge in him just about anywhere- though it was usually either the group of trees out behind the fields or the mostly-empty janitor's closet on the second floor. However, she has to admit that she hasn't had any classes like Rhetoric- which is much more in his wheelhouse than her own- with him since their sophomore year.

As the instructor goes on, she shifts her gaze to him, briefly; he's sitting next to her in the semicircle they'd all formed with their desks on the first day of class, slouched in his chair as usual. However, his eyes tell a completely different story than his body. Despite his claims that this is his least favorite class, his eyes are trained on the professor, engaged and seemingly eager at the prospect of reading what's apparently some well-known short story Tara's never heard of. She's still contemplating him when the rest of the class suddenly jerks into motion, sliding desks into triads. Almost instantly, Jackson's moving his desk to butt up against the front of hers, effectively declaring them a group someone else would have to breach, if they dared.

"Any idea which story you want, Babe?" _Huh? Oh, right. _Tara shrugs, flipping through the pages for something- anything- that jumps out at her enough to justify writing an entire paper on the subject. _God,_ she hates this class; except for Jackson, it's full of the things she hates most- poetry, symbolism, pathos, and public speaking to name a few. Her mind- hell, her personality- is much more suited to the maths and sciences covered in her other classes. Her life's got enough love, emotion, drama, and family struggles as it is- not to mention the fact that her analytical mind's constantly attempting to make sense of it all; the last thing she needs is a class about it.

"Um-" Before she can finish, another desk appears perpendicular to them, the legs shrieking as they scrape against the tiled floor. It's being pushed by a girl Tara barely remembers noticing before- though it's not like she spends much time looking at anyone but Jackson, she supposes. She's got blonde hair- several shades lighter than Jackson's- piercing green eyes, and a pretty smile, which she directs at both of them as she slides her lithe body- Tara doesn't miss its athletic perfection- into the seat.

"Hi, hope you don't mind me joining you," the girl says, brightly. Jackson returns her smile with his own, heart-stopping one. _Of course._

"Nah, you're good." Tara can only muster a shrug, and the girl's smile falters a bit before she pastes it back on, choosing to focus on Jackson instead. Tara watches as her eyes move over him, appreciatively, bristles as the girl's lips curl a bit, evidently pleased with what she sees.

"I'm Candy, I think I was a year or two ahead of you at Charming High? Jax Teller, right?" Recognition dawns, suddenly; Candy Eglee had been the star of the basketball team last year, but- much like Tara herself- she'd stuck with a small group of friends, who, in Candy's case, were a few girls on the basketball team. However, unlike Tara, she'd never shown Jackson a shred of interest; though that's evidently changing now. Jackson nods, his smile growing wider as he, too recognizes her.

"Right... you graduated last year, didn't you?" Candy nods.

"Yep. I'm in the criminal justice program here; I had to switch to this section of Rhetoric because mine wound up conflicting with my internship." Her expression turns curious. "How is it that you two are here? Aren't you seniors, now?" Jackson reaches across his desk to take Tara's hand and directs his grin at her, winking surreptitiously.

"Tara is, but she's taking afternoon classes here," he says affectionately, never taking his eyes off Tara, even as Candy responds.

"Oh, right, you're some kind of genius aren't you, Tara?"

"Not really," Tara says, evenly, finally finding her voice. She flicks her eyes to Candy, who's still smiling, sincerely, at both of them; Christ, she's not used to any girl besides Donna actually holding a pleasant conversation with her. She's _really _not used to women approaching Jackson without suggestive looks and outright flirting, though it appears now that Candy's doing neither. "I just know what I want, I guess." She chances a smile in Candy's direction and finds it easier than she'd thought as Jackson draws her hand to his mouth and lays a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

"Damn right, you do," He's giving her a heated look that instantly brings back visions of this morning in his bed- the way his lips had brushed hers, the way he'd hardened beneath her and-

"What about you, Jax?" Candy's voice serves to jerk Tara out of the memory of a few hours ago even as she feels the telltale flush creep up her chest; Jackson notices, his gaze darting briefly downward before fixing, glazed, on her eyes again. His tongue darts out- subconsciously, Tara knows- to lick his lips before he responds to Candy, his fixed look on Tara never faltering.

"Oh, I know what _I_ want, too..."

Tara's pressing her thighs together, unable to look away, when suddenly, the instructor is speaking again. The distraction slightly relieves the abruptly thick tension and leaves Tara- and probably poor Candy- to breathe a sigh of relief. Christ, she'd been half-ready to seize him by the hand and drag him off to some empty classroom, the bathroom- _anywhere_, really- and climb him like a tree.

"We're still discussing, I'm sorry," Candy's voice pipes up- apparently directed at the instructor, who must have nodded, because then she's leaning further across her desk and murmuring. "We better choose our stories, class is almost over." Tara reddens further and- thanks to a quick glance at Candy- notices that she, too is pink-faced, though Tara can't bring herself to care. After a moment's silence, Candy asks them both- "Do you mind if I use _The Things They Carried_? I've already read it, so..." Her voice trails off and Tara manages to slap on an amicable smile.

"Sure, no problem. Jackson?" He waves a hand.

"I don't give a shi- I mean, I don't care. I haven't read any of 'em. You got a preference, Tara? It's _The Scarlet Ibis_ or _The Birth-Mark_, I guess."

"It looks like..." Tara pauses, skimming a bit of a page, "_The Scarlet Ibis_ is about two brothers, I think. And the other one..." Hurriedly, she flips forward to the beginning of the third story. "This one looks like it's about a scientist who falls in love with a beautiful woman." Jackson snorts.

"Looks like_ that_ decision's made," he responds, just as the instructor speaks up, again.

"Alright. You should, by now, have chosen your short story- make sure you record it on the class list next to your name before you leave. Go home and spend some time with it; read it, think about it, maybe read it again. And then, I want you to address its symbolism; that is, what things in the story are really meant to represent something else? What do those things mean to the world at large? What do they mean for you, personally? How did the author use logos, ethos, or pathos to reach their intended audience? Bring your final draft to the midterm, where I'll give you additional instructions." The instructor closes the anthology with a thump. "See you next week."

Instantly, the room is a flurry of activity as students scramble to return their desks to the original positions, gather their things, and make their way towards the exit. Jackson's just finished moving his desk when Candy appears, backpack slung over her shoulder and an uncertain smile on her lips.

"Uh... it was nice to get a chance to talk to you, Jax, Tara. Let me know if you guys ever want to study, okay?"

"I have a discussion section in thirty minutes, but maybe some other time," Tara manages- kindly, she hopes- along with a smile, as Jackson twines his fingers with hers.

"See you next week," He angles his chin upwards and tosses Candy an easy smile before heading for the door, Tara alongside him. They're almost to the end of the hallway before she notices his smirk, the amused glances. _Oh, for fuck's sake_...

"_What_?" She can't keep the irritation out of her voice; he cuts his eyes and the smirk intensifies, the lines it forms near his mouth deepening.

"You're actually jealous of Candy Eglee?" Tara rolls her eyes, releasing his hand to walk a little faster and hoping he'll drop this before it gets annoying and she's forced to slug him in front of everyone. "Tara!" She keeps walking; it's only a few feet to the commons area Jackson usually waits in while she has her Chemistry discussion section, and just down the hallway on the other side to the classroom itself. Determined, she hurries through the stream of students even though she'll be early- dodging between the tables in the commons area- and is mere feet from the door to her next class when he finally manages to grab ahold of her hand, tugging her back into a recessed entryway for some other classroom.

"Christ, Tara, just-"

"You're enjoying this way too much," She tries her best to pin him with a glare, but it's hard when his own eyes are glittering with amusement and even harder when he's got that infuriating smirk on his face; the one that can heat her blood just as quickly as it can piss her off.

"She barely even looked at me, Babe, so you wanna tell me why you ignored her for the first half of the group session?" Okay, that's worth a deadpan look, because no freaking way is she admitting to acting like a fourteen-year-old girl with her first boyfriend... _ever_; nor is she about to admit to herself that she'd thought, for just a second, that Jackson isn't even safe from the 'normal' girls at college. Nope.

"Not really." _God,_ why does he have to notice every damn thing when it comes to her? More, why does this amuse him so damn much? As if he's reading her mind, Jackson spins them and sidles closer- trapping her between his body and the door while effectively shielding her from passing students in the hallway- and lets the smirk morph into an all-out grin.

"Admit it; you got a little heated when she gave me the once-over," he murmurs, bracing his hands on the door on either side of her head, letting his lower body brush against hers, just enough. _Speaking of heated..._

"Never. And you're a cocky asshole." He chuckles at this and inches ever closer, his forearms on the door now, bringing his lips nearly flush against hers.

"I'm _your _cocky asshole," he breathes, closing the gap between their bodies- a mere fraction of an inch at this point- to push her firmly against the door; Tara finds herself pressing her hips forward, reveling in his hardness against her. She's losing it- and quickly- but manages to volley back a response instead of leaning forward and catching his lip between her teeth the way she wants to; snakes an arm behind herself instead of around him to palm his ass and pull him firmly into her... _like she wants to_.

"That what you wanted, Teller? For me to claim you... _again_?" This, just fiercely enough that he blinks, distracted from her body for a moment that's just long enough for her to finally find what it is she's been groping for- the door handle- and twist it experimentally. It gives way- suddenly, even though she's the one who'd opened it- and then they're practically falling into the empty classroom, stumbling into an AV cart before righting themselves, two backpacks hitting the floor with muffled thumps. She can't help giggling as he hauls her into his arms, immediately bringing their bodies flush again.

'You know I'm yours, darlin'. I've been y-"

Jackson doesn't even finish his thought before she she's attacking his mouth with her own, swallowing the rest of his words even as they devolve into a groan. Then- just as suddenly as they'd begun- Tara's pulling back, leaving Jackson's hand to trail along her hip before breaking free, his lips wet and half-open.

"_Darlin'_?" The word comes out in a bit of a growl, probably harsher than Tara had meant it to, but just as well because- much to her amusement- he cringes. _Good. _Now she's not the only one who slipped up.

"Shit, sorry. I mean- _Christ_, Tara, should we even be in here? Who knows when..." His voice trails off as she points over her shoulder to the bright green schedule taped onto the door- the one she'd noticed the second he'd pulled her into the entryway. The gleam in his eyes seems to transform into a living, breathing hunger as she watches him come to the realization she had minutes ago- the classroom's not going to be in use for the rest of the day. But when she closes the door and turns the lock, he opens his mouth just one more time. "Your class-"

"Shut up, Teller."

And shut up, he does because the next second, her mouth is on his. God, she loves kissing him- just _loves_ him, really- but kissing him is truly something she doesn't think she'll ever tire of. The way his lips feel against hers- indescribably soft and pliant, yet hot and insistent just the same. The way he melts into her just a little when he groans into her mouth, the way his tongue strokes hers, spawning memories of the times he'd used it to stroke the most sensitive parts of her. Hell, even the way his hands seem to rise on their own volition to rest just beneath her jaw, guiding her where he will...

Jackson's hands slide from her waist around to her ass, finally pushing against her with the pressure she wants- _has _wanted- since they'd been in bed this morning. He drags his lips from hers and into that curve of her neck that seems made for him, he fits so perfectly there; his breath comes heavily now, in huffs, heating her yet making her shiver as he grinds so insistently against her that something bumps against her ass. Something solid; Tara angles her head just enough to see that it's a large, wooden desk before Jackson takes advantage of her neck- bared to him now- and draws the skin between his teeth, sucking gently.

"God, Jackson..." As he continues his way down her neck, Tara reaches between them to mold her hand around the ridge pressing against his fly. He shudders, then, and a smirk of her own tints the corners of her mouth as she squeezes him, eliciting a rush of words she can't understand mumbled against her neck. Almost before she realizes it, she's popping the button of his fly and yanking his jeans and boxers over his hips- not even bothering with the zipper- allowing him to spring free.

"Here?" Jackson jerks back in surprise even as his eyes fall closed the moment she takes him in hand, stroking him slowly.

"Here," Tara replies, simply, and releases him to unfasten her own buttons, hooking her thumbs beneath her panties and pushing them down along with her jeans. As she rises again, she slides up and onto the desk, using the edge of it to pry a Chuck off so she can snake her bare leg out of her jeans completely and hook it around him. Even as he grips himself, runs a thumb over the head before giving himself two deft strokes, his eyes flit to the door- the narrow window in it covered only by butcher paper- and _God_ she needs him to focus.

Tara flexes her leg, pulls him closer, but it's all moot as Jackson's eyes glaze over and he seizes her by a hip, dragging her to the very edge of the desk. She can't help but whine as he centers himself, then flexes his hips- barely parting her, bumping against the nub that's been swollen and aching for him all day. He presses harder, the underside of him setting up some amazing friction... But she needs more than just friction- she needs him inside her, hard, hot and now. "Now, Baby, I need you n-"

"Jesus, Tara" he hisses, interrupting her, but it wouldn't have mattered because then she's unable to speak, unable to think, unable to do anything but focus on the hot, thick, length of him parting her, driving deeper and deeper. He withdraws almost to the tip of him gives her a few deep strokes, but his face is a dead giveaway that it just isn't enough.

Then, he pushes her back, none too gently, until she's lying on the desk, gripping her hips and yanking her forward until she's nearly falling off the edge. Only then is he able to push all the way into her, resting there for a moment and dropping a wet kiss onto her chin before he circles his hips just so. With every pass, his heated skin drags against her nub and it's mere moments before she can feel the beginnings of the tension pulling, coiling, so tight she's afraid she'll break.

"God, don't stop..." She's barely choked the words out when he takes her at her word- picking up the pace they've set, rucking her shirt up and flicking the front clasp of her bra open. The cool air skims over her chest, raising the fine hairs there and pebbling her nipples; Jackson smirks at the sight and almost instantly pitches forward to suck one into his mouth. And, as if that's all that was missing, the sensations meld- Jackson's slender fingers digging into her hip, the endless, grinding friction of his skin and bone on her sweet spot, the searing wet heat and gentle suction of his mouth around her nipple, and the pulsing warmth of him filling her... It's everything, he's every_where,_ and as the waves of pleasure spread, rippling from her center to the very tips of her, she tightens around him as if to pull him- all of him- into her. Her hands fist in his hair- she _needs_ his mouth- and his lips covers hers just as the scream rumbles from her throat so he can swallow it whole.

"Christ, you're beautiful when you come," Jackson growls against her lips, seconds later.

"So are you," Tara replies hoarsely. "So let me see it Baby." He nods against her forehead, dipping his tongue briefly into her mouth as he withdraws, then straightens to seize her hips and bury himself to the hilt once again.

"Hold on, Babe." She takes him at his word, gripping the edge of the desk- almost as hard as he's gripping her hips; she wonders briefly if they're going to bruise, but the thought quickly flees as one hand leaves her hip and snakes up her free leg. His eyes a storm even in the dim classroom, he places it on his shoulder, presses a kiss to her calf, and drives into her with a force she isn't used to. Over and over, his hips meet her thighs, sending the desk scraping across the floor and into the chair behind it.

"Jesus, you feel good," he barely manages, the heavy puffs of his breath marking a cadence that makes her smirk.

"Hurry up, Teller," Tara gasps as he hits just the right spot, and then he's thrusting even harder, hitting it again and again- trailing his tongue down her leg and holding her hip ever tighter. Her eyes begin to drift closed until she sees his head loll back, the pure ecstacy flickering on his gorgeous features as his hips slow, stutter. The room fills with his groan as he comes, and comes, and comes, heating her this time from within.

Jackson collapses on her, finally releasing her hip- and the telltale ache there is a sure sign he's left a lasting impression.

"_God, _I don't want to go learn about Chemistry," she groans, eliciting a laugh she feels more than hears since he's still half-resting on top of her, though both their legs are still vertical.

"I'm pretty sure you just did that."

* * *

An hour later, Tara exits her discussion section with the ghost of Jackson's fingers still on her and the faintest hint of a satisfied smile lurking on her lips. Her mind filled, for once, with the thrill of having him here on campus with her-_ in_ her, she reminds herself, blushing- instead of formulas and functional groups. Quickly scanning the commons, she can see him sitting at his usual table and quickens her step. From the back, he looks to be completely absorbed in his Rhetoric anthology; he's slouched in the chair- the book resting on his lap and propped against the edge of the table- and as she approaches, she can see his long fingers, tented and resting on his lips. Smiling, Tara wraps her arms around his neck.

"Hey, Baby," she whispers, anticipating his head dropping back so he can look at her, give her the Teller smirk, maybe steal a kiss. What he does, though, is none of those things; instead, he sighs and draws two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. Uneasy now, Tara moves to his side. "What is it?" He shrugs, rolling his neck, and takes her hand with his free one.

"Nothin', it's stupid."

"Jackson-" He sighs.

"It's just- have you _read_ this fuckin' story?" At her questioning look, he gestures at the anthology. "_The Scarlet Ibis_, the one I'm supposed to analyze for the midterm." Tara shakes her head, uncertainly, her eyes widening.

"I skimmed the first paragraph or so when we were choosing them, but I've never heard of it before..." She trails off as Jackson's jaw tightens and he looks away, briefly, as if to gather his thoughts.

"Yeah, I hadn't either. But it's fucked up, Babe. Like, _really _fucked up." His eyes fix on hers again, and she smiles, softly, and squeezes his hand.

"I think they're supposed to be fucked up, Jackson. Otherwise, what would we be analyzing?" Then, he's sitting up, resting his chin on his hands and looking at her, seriously.

"This shit though... it's like it hit me in the gut, Tara. The story's about these two brothers- the younger one's born with some sort of defect, and the older one, he..." Jackson swallows, with some difficulty. "He spends his whole life tryin' to teach his brother how to walk, how to fight... just so he can be normal." Tara's brow knits; _well that seems pretty damn normal_. Jackson must have guessed at what was on her mind because he immediately responds to her unvoiced thoughts.

"But he only did it because he was fuckin' embarrassed; embarrassed his brother was different, ashamed to be seen with him. And the _real _fucked up part is that he gets pissed when his brother can't handle the pressure; it starts raining and the kid can't keep up with him, just can't do it anymore. So what does he do? He takes the fuck off, leaves the kid out there in the storm with no way to get home. Doesn't turn back until the storm's outta control, but it's too late. His brother died, Tara; the kid died because his older brother was an asshole who only cared about himself and his fuckin' image." Jesus... this is just like him- to put things on himself, carry them around on his conscience until they become a part of him. The rest of Charming may see him as a self-centered Prince with an unreasonable amount of swagger, but he wouldn't be the Jackson she knows and loves if that wasn't mostly a veneer, a layer he uses to hide his introspection from everyone but her. She sighs, crouching before him to frame his face with her hands.

"I know what you're thinking, Baby. Tommy loved you, and you loved him-" He flinches, shakes his head a bit as he cuts her off.

"It ain't as serious as all that, Tara. I wasn't embarrassed by him, or by the family flaw- hell, my heart's barely average, and that don't mean that it'll stay that way. But I did spend a shitload of time wishin' he was normal-"

"And_ that's_ normal, Jackson-"

"- and wishin' he could run around and play like the other kids. Even though I was never an asshole to him, I didn't accept him he way he was, either."

"There's nothing wrong with wishing he was healthy, Jackson. That just makes sense- you wanted what was best for him, for his health." Slowly, he nods, a flash of sadness crossing his face once again.

"I know. It's just fucked up that I got to analyze this story now... just shy of his anniversary, you know? I mean, it's different- _we _were different; but at the same time, there are all these parallels and they got me thinkin'. And with Trinity coming tonight... I dunno. I can see it there, too, I guess." Tara's heart tugs at the worry etched into the normally easy lines of his face and runs a thumb over each. Jackson blinks back at her, wide-eyed and somber.

"Did you know Maureen's mother made her run off to Dublin or somewhere to have Trinity? Called her a child of shame or some shit, it was all in that letter she wrote to my Dad. And there's a reason she hid her from my Dad, from SAMBEL, as long as she did... Catholic and Club bullshit." Jackson snorts, then puffs out a breath, runs his hand down his face before continuing. "Kid grew up her whole life bein' someone's secret, someone's embarrassment, and now she's comin' here and I don't want her to feel that shit, you know? Not from me; not from the one other person who knows what it's like to be JT's kid... the one person who knows what havin' Gemma around 24/7 is like. It's just... what if I ain't what she's expecting?" Tara smiles and finds his hands, kisses his knuckles.

"Baby, you were a great big brother years ago, and you'll be a great one, now. I know that like I know how much I love you." Jackson's lips curve a bit- it Isn't quite a smile, but it's better than nothing, Tara thinks- and then he's standing, shoving the anthology into his backpack before turning and extending a hand to her.

"Come with me somewhere?"

"You bet your ass, Teller."

* * *

_Somewhere_ turns out to be Chester's, the tattoo shop that had been in downtown Charming as long as Tara can remember, tucked between a small laundromat and a bakery. Sons have been coming to Chester for their ink since the day they rolled into town, according to Jackson, which is when the Reaper had made its appearance on the right arm of each of the First Nine, if you believed SAMCRO legend. JT has no other visible ink, and Tara had never really wondered if he had any other tattoos; apparently, however, _Thomas_ and _Jackson_ are etched into his chest, just below his collarbone. Absently, Tara wonders if he plans to put _Trinity_ somewhere- or maybe he already has, without Jackson's knowledge.

Her eyes shift to Jackson himself, sitting next to her on the bench at the front of the shop, practically vibrating with nervous energy. They'd been quiet since Chester himself- unrecognizable compared to the photos on the wall of a young, black-haired man tattooing countless men, a cigar clamped between his teeth in every one- had gone into the back to make a stencil. He'd taken with him one of Jackson's notepads, shocking the hell out of Tara, who'd never known her boyfriend to let anyone touch his journals- not even her.

"You sure you want to do this, Baby?" Jackson starts at her question, which is a sign of just how on-edge he is, since her voice is barely a murmur. Then, he raises his chin to regard her more closely.

"I've wanted to do this since I was sixteen, Tara; it's just..." He shrugs, one corner of his mouth quirking up, "it's never felt right, never been the right time."

"And now?" Jackson nods at her question, as if it's obvious.

"Now it's time." She opens her mouth to ask how he knows, how he's so sure, but then another- more pressing- question comes to mind.

"What about Gemma?" Jackson snorts, waves her off.

"I'm eighteen, there ain't shit she can do even if she wanted to. But this ain't for her, or for them; it's for Tommy... for _me_." He glances at her, grinning in earnest, this time. "I'll show 'em eventually, Tara, but for now, this stays between us, Babe, alright?" Uncertainly, Tara nods, the prospect of a secret already rankling. Sensing this, he takes her hand, lowers his head to peer up at her. "I promise, it won't be for long; I just don't feel like gettin' into it all with anyone else. Not right now."

"Okay, Baby."

"You wanna try this on for size?" Chester, who's now a white-haired, stooped old man- but still with the cigar- emerges from the back of the shop, brandishing what appears to be a sheet of tissue paper lined with something in dark purple. As he approaches, he hands Jackson the notepad then holds the stencil up next to it, evidently comparing the two. Instantly, Jackson's smiling and bobbing his head.

"Yeah, man, it looks_ exactly _like I'd imagined. Christ_,_ it's a good thing you're the artist, mine looked like a kid drew it-"

"Yeah, well, you're pretty much a fucking _kid _as far as I'm concerned, even if you are the next President of SAMCRO," Chester bites back, his gravelly voice sounding exactly like it had come out of a seventy-year-old tattoo artist with a cigar habit, Tara thinks. "Besides, it's my job to make sense out of some pretty hare-brained goddamn ideas... that and jab a needle into your arm about a million times over the next couple hours or so. Speaking of, gimme your arm." Not surprisingly, Jackson doesn't respond to this at all, just shrugs out of his hoodie and pushes up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Carefully, Chester applies the stencil, then steps back and jerks a thumb towards a large, vertical mirror next to the front counter. "Go check it out." Almost instantly, Jackson's grinning widely, and Tara cranes her neck to try and catch a glimpse, but Chester doesn't even wait for a verbal okay, just points towards the back with its single leather table and rasps a command. "Get your ass up there and try not to be a pussy."

It takes a few hours; hours in which Jackson is not, in fact, a pussy, which Tara's well aware of since she spent most of them flinching when he flinched, gritting her teeth when he tensed. However, he never so much as grunted in pain and even Chester had commented near the end that he'd have assumed it was his tenth tat instead of his first. She'd wanted to hold Jackson's hand, but both he and Chester had rolled their eyes at this, so she'd settled for sitting on a torn leather chair near the table- actually, _everything's_ near the table in the cramped back area of the shop- with her Biology text in her lap. She'd meant to study for the upcoming midterms, but had been mesmerized by the buzzing of the tattoo machine- there had been a two minute long lecture from Chester that it wasn't a goddamn M-16, so it sure as hell wasn't a gun- and even more so by the play of thoughts and emotions on Jackson's face. Because, as convinced as she is that he isn't a pussy, so to speak, she's also sure that since he'd spent the majority of the time in silence- punctuated only by Chester's occasional observations- he'd been thinking of Tommy, and maybe even Trinity.

"Can I see?" She asks, just as Chester's preparing to cover what she's basically come to understand is a large-surface, open wound.

"Of course." Jackson's voice is casual, but he nearly has to tear his eyes away from it- his first tattoo- to beckon her over, and she can't help but smile at the way his eyes instantly return to it. Christ, she can see why.

Stark against the smooth, firm skin of his deltoid- upper arm, he'd insisted on calling it instead of its anatomical term- is a beautiful, three-cornered Celtic knot in perfectly modulated black and grey. Except, that is, for the single circular band in its interior, which is split perfectly in three by the twisted inner workings of the knot. The band itself is a pure, light grey except where the intricate script is woven in its three parts, and Tara's breath catches at what it reads: _Always. My. Brother._ Unexpected tears sting her eyes, and she's still trying to recover when she realizes he's speaking to her, anxiously, this time.

"Do you think he'd like it?" Jackson's face is uncertain, hopeful, and Tara instantly realizes that he, in this case, isn't Chester, or Piney, or Opie or even JT... and she loves him even more for asking.

"Tommy would have loved it."

* * *

It's only as they're roaring across town to JT and Gemma's that Tara truly has time to think about what's about to happen to the Teller faily. Gemma's about to meet her previously secret stepdaughter, about to be faced with a near-constant reminder of her husband's infidelity... at least until the weekend. JT's surely on his way back from Turlock or Modesto or whatever halfway point on which he'd agreed with Maureen and McGee. They're staying with the Fresno charter, keeping Maureen's promise of staying far away from Charming... and Gemma. But he's about to bring his Prodigal Daughter, so to speak, into his home for the first time. Trinity's an eight year old child about to see her father in person for about the third time ever, about to meet a new stepmother for the first time, and about to interact with the big brother she'd never known she'd had. And Jackson... he's about to meet his half-sister, the secret child that's now proof of his father's infidelity, for the first time in person. Tara's stomach is in knots, and she's not even meeting a long-lost family member.

The Teller house is lit up warmly, and as they pull into the drive the front door opens, revealing Gemma who's near-frantically waving them inside.

"You two are late! Get in here and help me set the table!" Almost as suddenly as she'd appeared, Gemma turns on a heel and hurries back inside. They exchange a look as the door hangs open behind her, then follow along on her heels, unwilling to risk any argument- not tonight.

"Ma-"

"Ain't time, Jackson. Grab those plates and set 'em out. Tara, get drinking glasses." Hiding a smile, Tara crosses the kitchen to the cabinet, only to be nearly knocked over by Gemma, who'd just taken a large roasting pan out of the oven. She waits as Gemma digs through the large drawer below the cabinet containing the glasses until she finally stands, triumphantly brandishing a large platter.

"What's for dinner, Gemma?" She's trying to make friendly conversation; Gemma, for her part, stares at Tara like she's an idiot.

"Corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes," she responds, slowly, as if it should be completely obvious. "Wanted Trinity to feel at home- now, get those glasses, would ya?" Gemma bustles over to the oven and Tara can't help but smile fondly after her, doesn't have the heart to point out that Belfast isn't really known for its corned beef. She's really trying, Tara realizes, which is a hell of a lot more than she'd have expected this time two years ago.

Tara's setting a glass at each place when she hears Gemma cussing up a storm in the kitchen; finishing quickly, she chances a peek around the corner of the divider to find her standing in front of the stove, hands on her hips, as if willing it to rise and finish dinner itself.

"What is it, Ma?" Jackson asks from behind her, evidently finished with his own assignment. Gemma spins, the disgust evident on her face.

"Goddamn_ Luann,_ is what it is. I had to go over to the studio and pull her off this porn skank who has a thing for Otto for some goddamn reason." Tara chooses not to ask whether Luann herself isn't a porn skank. "Took two hours to talk her out of heading over to the garage to kill him herself, and by the time I got back here, the whole day was shot and now dinner ain't even done." Gemma shakes her head. "I swear to God, those two fight more than anyone I've ever met- seems like they've been at it since 1978 when they fought over whether Luann's dress was too short at your father's and my wedding." Jackson chuckles and advances on her, ignoring the deadly glare Gemma shoots him in return.

"Luann's been a pain in the ass ever since I can remember," Jackson soothes as he folds her into a hug. "And dinner can wait- Dad ain't even back yet." As if the universe was created solely to hassle Gemma Teller, however, the distinct sound of the Teller-Winston tow truck echoes in the driveway.

"Jesus _Christ..._" Gemma pulls back from Jackson and glances between the two of them. "Quick, you two-" but she's interrupted by the front door opening and closing, and all three of them seem to freeze, despite the earlier, manic activity. Tara's the first to respond, forcing a smile onto her lips as JT enters the kitchen trailed by a slight, pale girl with strawberry blonde curls and- to her shock- Jackson's piercing blue eyes. Trinity smiles back, shyly, and Tara finds that after a bit, her own smile doesn't need to be forced. Jackson's arm is still around his mother, but he, too, breaks into a smile as JT begins to speak.

"Gemma, Jackson, Tara... this is Trinity." JT smiles, expectantly as they all three chorus their hellos.

"Hello," comes a small voice; even those two simple syllables are filled with a lilt that's rivaled only by Chibs'. Still, nobody moves- _Christ, Gemma, just suck it up... _Tara had been the first to smile, and is also the first force herself to move, giving Trinity a quick hug.

"I was so looking forward to meeting you! You know..." She adds, in what she hopes is a casual, conspiratorial tone, "we could use some more girls around Charming." Trinity practically lights up.

"Oh, good. Well, Fresno's full o' nothin' but lads, so far," she says, disgusted, her nose wrinkling. "Well, and Ma, and a couple o' the Ol' Ladies, but they're grown, so..." She shrugs, turning her attention to Gemma.

"Hi, Miss Gemma," she murmurs, sweetly. Something in Gemma's face softens as Tara watches, and she steps forward to hug Trinity, too, before holding her at arm's length.

"Just call me Gemma, sweetheart." Trinity nods vigorously in response, her strawberry curls bouncing, "I'm afraid supper isn't ready yet; it'll be a few minutes, still, since you and your, uh, Dad were early." Tara has to physically stop her eyes from rolling, but at least Gemma's being pleasant. "How about Jackson takes you back to show you the house and the room you'll be staying in while I finish up?" Trinity eyes Jackson, who still seems frozen in place- though a smile's on his face- then shifts her eyes to Tara.

"Is Tara comin'?" This seems to snap Jackson out of his stupor and he bends to grin at his sister.

"Tell you a secret?" Trinity nods eagerly and Jackson chuckles before he whispers, loudly, "I take Tara almost everywhere." JT laughs outright, looking fondly at his two living children, but Trinity frowns.

"That's no' a very good secret, Jackson." At this, he bursts out laughing and jerks his head towards the back hallway.

"Fair enough, darlin'. Let's go check out your room." Then, to his father- "Hand me her bag, will ya, Dad?" Seconds later, the three of them are heading down the back hallway. "Alright, you already saw the kitchen and dining rooms. That's the bathroom. Any further explanations necessary?" Trinity shakes her head, but peers in despite herself. That's Mom- uh, Gem-"

"Jacksonnnn... I'll know who y'r talkin' about if y' call her Ma, I'm not stupid." This is said in her sweet lilting voice, and Tara can't help but think she herself would have sounded like a sassy brat saying the same damn sentence. In any case, it's clear Jackson's relieved he'll no longer have to trip over his terms of endearment.

"A'ight, well that's Mom and Dad's room, then. Not much to see, really. And this- " Jackson points at his former bedroom "-is your room. Trinity eyes them both, perhaps a bit uncertainly; then- when it's clear nobody esle is going to- pushes through the door. Silently, Tara and Jackson follow.

The setup is identical to what it had been months ago when it had been Jackson's room- bed, small desk and chair, dresser... it's the _details_ that have changed. Where a masculine plaid bedspread had formerly been, a white coverlet with tiny embroidered flowers now graces the bed. The Harley posters- and, Tara notices, the one of the skanky girl from the back of the door- are missing, replaced by a few things any girl of about that age would like. She can't help but feel a small loss at the sight of Jackson's childhood bedroom- the site of so many happy memories between them- completely transformed... but the pleased look on Trinity's slight face is worth it; Tara makes a mental note to offer the girl any and everything that was still in her room when she'd moved back to Charming.

"That gonna work, darlin'? I know it's a little bare, but Gemma said she'll find you some girly shi- uh, stuff, to church it up with." Trinity nods, happily, before flinging herself at Jackson's waist to hug him, prompting his eyes to fly to Tara's in alarm. Then, a smile blooms on his lips and Tara can't help but love him just a little more.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I brought y' something." Hurriedly, Trinity crouches before the large duffel bag Jackson had dropped near the bed, unzipping it and removing a medium-sized roll of paper from the top. A bit shyly- especially after hugging him moments ago,-she holds it out to Jackson, who takes it with a small smile. Gingerly, he unrolls it, revealing a rather large painting of a motorcycle done in bright colors; his face instantly lights up, and Tara can't help but smile, too.

"This is fu-, uh, awesome! DId you do this yourself?" Trinity beams at him, answering the question wordlessly. "Can I hang it in my room, or did you have a plan or somethin'?" Eagerly, Trinity nods her head.

"Tha's wha' I was thinkin', too. C'n y' hang it up now, then? Is tha' y'r room across the hall?" Tara tenses, a bit- it had been easy for Jackson to claim he'd tell his sister all about Tommy... but she knowsall too well that these things are often a lot harder in practice. He sighs a bit, then nods towards the hall.

"C'mere." Obligingly, Trinity follows him to the other bedroom, stops behind him in the hall when he draws up short at the open doorway. When's the last time he's entered this room? "So... I know Dad told you about my- uh, our- brother Tommy, right? Slowly, Trinity nods. "Well, he also told you that Tommy died, didn't he?" Another nod. "This was his room, before, uh, well... _before_. Nobody sleeps in here because we were all pretty sad after he died, but now we all just like to remember him whenever we can." Trinity had been nodding along, but now furrows her brow in confusion.

"So where do y' sleep, then?" Jackson smiles, apparently relieved for the slight change in subject, and waves his hand.

"I have my own room, somewhere else, because I'm eighteen." He leans closer to her, drops his voice to a mock whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm pretty much an adult." And so, they're all laughing while Trinity groans and covers her eyes at the prospect of her brother, the _adult_\- until they're interrupted seconds later.

"SUPPER!' Gemma's voice echoes down the hallway and instantly, Trinity's grin widens.

"She sounds just like m' Ma." _Oh, Christ, if there's one thing Gemma doesn't need to hear, it's that_, Tara thinks with a smirk; evidently, Jackson agrees because he widens his eyes in mock horror and shakes his head at her behind Trinity's back.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mention that, maybe. C'mon, darlin', let's eat and I'll tell you more about Tommy another time." He doesn't have to tell her twice as Trinity practically skips down the hallway to join the rest of the Teller family in the dining room. He watches her go for a moment, then reaches back, blindly; it takes Tara a second to realize what it is he's waiting for, but when she finally takes his hand, his grip on her is unyielding, pulling her into his side. "Thank you for being here, today. Always." He places a soft kiss on her cheek as they make their way to the opening of the hallway, where she can see Trinity, John, and Gemma already at the table.

"I'll always be here for you, Jackson... and I think you guys will be just fine."


	6. Ch 6

****I own nothing you recognize****

This has to be Otto's fifth smoke break of the morning, and that's not even including the ten minutes he and Tig had spent arguing over whether or not you could smoke in the bays. They'd settled on _fuck no,_ but only after Piney had happened by and told everyone to get their goddamn asses away from the solvents and tanks unless they wanted to blow the place sky high. Oh, and get back to work, shitheads. That had lasted all of five minutes after Piney pulled out of the lot and Otto was reaching for his smokes again.

"You headin' over or what?" Tig jerks his head towards the picnic tables, stepping back from the Buick they'd been working on and wiping his hands on a towel so black with oil Jax fails to see the point.

"Yeah." Otto clenches the cigarette between his teeth and wraps his greasy hair in a frayed rubber band. "Besides, it's almost lunch; the kid can take a look at the manual for the Jeep we got up next." Otto flashes Jax a silver-capped grin as Tig snorts.

"Nah, the Prince's got class after lunch with the big shots. Won't be back until Daddy's ready to roll out for Fresno," Tig says, tauntingly. Otto just shrugs.

"Someone's got to take the Irish kid back to her mother-"

"Yeah._ JT._ But if I were him, I'd be leavin' the Prince here to catch up on all the shit he misses takin' off every afternoon." Jax rolls his eyes; it isn't Tig's- or anyone else's- business just why he wants to go to Fresno, what he has planned for he and Tara for the weekend, or why JT'd acquiesced. Tig eyes him, warily, before sucking his teeth and firing a question at him. "What's the cylinder alignment in that thing?" he demands, insolently, nodding towards the Jeep in the other bay.

"Straight six," Jax answers, casually. _Fuck you, Tiggy_. Tig shrugs.

"We got to swap out the front two tires, what size rims she got?" Christ, that's not even really a fair question; it depends on whether the owner had chosen to customize, and Jax can't see from here if they're original or- "OEM, Prince, which'd be obvious if you'd noticed the fuckin' star-shaped wheels." Jax gives him the finger, and Tig's eyes flash, dangerously. "Right, you go ahead and treat this like it's a fuckin' joke." Otto's still over there grinning- Jax is beginning to think he gets off on watching Tig be a dick to him- but he doesn't say anything to Tig, just chuckles.

"Go grab the manual out the glove box, kid. You can answer Tig's question before you take off," Otto says around his cigarette. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he heads toward the picnic tables without a backward glance. TIg, however, shoots Jax a smirk before following; all Jax can do is roll his eyes and send him another halfhearted middle finger before retreating to the Jeep in question and snatching up the owner's manual.

Sighing, he stuffs it into his back pocket and shoots a furtive look at the picnic tables- they're over there smoking and laughing and _goddamn,_ what he wouldn't do for a cigarette- before heading back into the Buick's bay and removing a folded piece of notebook paper from his TW shirt pocket. With his Interpretation of Literature midterm in just under two hours Jax only has about six books, two poems, and three short stories to finish committing to memory- at least enough so to answer enough scantron questions to fill a goddamn book... _fucking Christ._

Wearily, his eyes scan over the tiny print; Tara had taken one look at his scrawl and gently suggested that he start over, and write more like he would in his small journals... except about a hundred times neater. Apparently, actually being able to read the shit you were writing made for better studying, as did outlining the information by literary work and keeping it to a page or two for easy review during moments he wasn't busy. He'd merely nodded and done exactly what she'd suggested; when it comes to studying, Tara has years of experience while he'd basically flown by the seat of his pants his entire school career.

To be honest, he'd actually sort of planned on doing the same when it came to these classes; he's enjoying them more than he'd thought- more than he'll ever admit to pretty much anyone other than Tara; still, he'd figured he'd probably just slide on through the midterms. It's not like you have to be able to answer stupid fucking essay questions to be able to hold a conversation about any of this shit... let alone anything pertaining to a garage or an MC. However, Tara had cured him of his plans to skip studying real quick; all it had taken was one sentence, really. Jax smiles as he recalls losing track of her after smoking a cigarette with the guys one weekday evening not long ago.

"_Babe? You in here?"_

_'Hhmmm?" Tara's only response was distant, distracted, and Jax wasn't surprised to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed with a thick textbook on her lap, not even glancing up to acknowledge him as he let the door click shut behind him. Just then, a chorus of laughter rang out from the main room of the clubhouse followed by some muffled shouting, and Jax watched as a flash of irritation marred her face, previously lost in thought. "Jesus Christ..." Tara leaned back until her head thumped gently against the headboard and closed her eyes with a sigh._

_Grinning, Jax threw himself onto the bed next to her; as always, the sight of her on his bed had him half-hard already and eager to take advantage of her momentary distraction. His face was buried in his pillow, but he let the hand nearest her slide up her leg._

_"Jackson..." God, he loved that she called him Jackson, especially in that clear, sweet voice of hers. Somehow, even though he preferred Jax from about anyone else- even his parents had started referring to him as such every once in a while- he hoped that Tara never would. It was just another reminder of the past they'd shared, of the bond, special to them, that he'd never witnessed between anyone else; shit, hearing her call him Jax would almost make them seem... ordinary, when he knew they were extraordinary, somehow- even if admitting it to anyone else would only serve to confirm just how truly consumed by her he is._

_"You ditched me, babe," Jax tried to sound affronted, shifted his head on the pillow so she could see the eyebrow he'd cocked at her but kept his hand on its gentle path, drifting up her leg. Judging by the glare she shot back at him, however, he was likely going to be glad he'd chosen to lie face-down; something told him she wasn't in the mood to joke about his dick, which was pressing insistently against his fly now that he was on the bed net to her._

_"Yeah, I have midterms next week, baby; so as much as I like shooting pool and drinking beer with all of SAMCRO, I have to study or I'll be shit out of luck." She took one look at him and rolled her eyes; evidently, what was on his mind was written on his face, but she waited while he said it, anyway._

_"Babe, you're gonna ace this shit either way. You know you will," Jax insisted, turning onto his side and reaching across her to drag her closer- her hip bumped against his groin, relieving some of the pressure there but she didn't seem to notice, her head was shaking so furiously._

_"Do you have any idea how _hard_ I work to get the grades I do? A lot of those grades this semester are labs and class work, so maybe you've forgotten just how much work I have to put in for tests," She paused, regarded him somberly for a moment, "but maybe you need reminded, now. I told you when I agreed to stay here with you that I'd need to study-"_

_"And I've never stopped you, Tara," he responded, frowning; it was true, too- he'd never tried to interfere, never given her shit about holing up in the apartment on the odd Saturday night. Tara looked away and bit her lip._

_"That's not what I meant. I just... we've _talked_ about this, baby- how hard it is to study here, sometimes- but I'll do it, I'll _keep_ doing it, so we can be together." She turned, fully, drew her legs underneath herself and placed a hand on his chest to regard him with that serious gaze she'd been pinning him with whenever she had shit to say since they were five._

_"I just need to know that you're in this with me, Jackson." Jax started, covered her hand with his own- instantly ready to argue that he was, in fact, _so_ in this with her that he couldn't tell where his heart ended and hers began- when something in her eyes stopped him. "I'm not talking about you supporting me, baby. I'm talking about our plan, our future- if we're going to be together, we both have to be in this, one hundred percent-"_

_"And I am, Babe. Why do you think I'm takin' these classes in the first place?" Tara shook her head, slowly- as always, immune to his bullshit._

_"You're taking classes, Jackson, and your professors love you. I was there when your Memoirs professor told you that you had real potential to be an actual writer, remember?" She ignored the smirk that curled the corners of his mouth at the memory of that little conversation. "But none of that matters if you can't pass your midterms and finals. That's worth half your grade in at least two of your classes, and I haven't seen you study at all." Jax shrugged._

_"I actually like these classes, Tara, unlike most the shit I did in high school. I'll make it by, trust m-"_

_"This is college, Baby. You can't just make it by on your good looks or your family's reputation- you have to study." As soon as the words were out, she bit her lip, regret immediately evident on her face. Her eyes searched his, and he tried his damndest to look taken aback. "I'm sorry, Jackson..." She whispered, after a moment. "I didn't mean- I know you're smart, I know you can do this, you just gotta trust me that I've done enough studying in my lifetime for the both of us. And right now, you have to prepare for next week." Tentatively, Tara slid the hand on his chest up to his cheek; Jax looked away- though tearing his eyes away from her was never easy- pursed his lips and turned his head towards the wall. He heard her sigh, then, and the effort of keeping the smirk off his face was nearly too much. "I'm s-" He couldn't bear it any more, rolled her over to press several hard kisses to her lips, cheeks, forehead, before she managed to push him away._

_"You... ass," she practically cackled once she'd caught her breath. "I can't believe you just let me almost apologize to you." God, even pissed at him, even contrite, worried, distracted... the sight of her, flushed and... caring, about him- about _them_\- did things to his body and his heart he'd never have anticipated. She rolled away from him, let hand drift from her hip, but he was pretty sure he saw the beginnings of that wicked smile of hers- the one that was usually full of promise, full of an undercurrent that made his mouth dry and his dick hard._

_"Let me make it up to you, Babe." Jax raised an eyebrow, suggestively, only to have the breath knocked out of him by a heavy thump on his chest- his Interpretation of Literature anthology._

_"Oh, trust me... you _will_," Tara was straddling him, suddenly, her hands making their way up his thighs to his hips, narrowly missing his cock, which was now straining against the confines of his jeans. "And you'll do it by at least making an effort to study for your midterms." The smile grew wider even as her eyes narrowed, and she leaned across the textbook on his chest to whisper into his ear. "I'll _help_ you, Jackson..." The tone of her voice left room for doubt- just when he didn't want any doubt, just when the only thing he wanted help with was a few feet down the bed practically begging for release. "But you have to do your part, too Baby..." She let her lips drag from his ear to his jaw, brushed them there as if to imprint the suggestion of a kiss before continuing to his mouth. Jesus, he wasn't sure how long he could keep this up, lying here underneath her when his hands were itching to fill themselves with every part of her._

_"Oh, I'll do my part. Don't I always?" She shook her head, her lips brushing against his own before whispering into his mouth._

_"You show me how dedicated you are- to your studies, I mean, to our plan-" she amended as his hips flexed, no longer under his control, "-and I'll show you just how dedicated _I_ am... to _you_, Baby." Her tongue darted, briefly, to stroke the fullest part of his lower lip before she abruptly rolled off him and headed for the bathroom without looking back. That is, until she was in the doorway, casting him a a heated gaze over her shoulder along with that damn wicked grin- the one that evidently had some sort of magical connection straight to his cock. "So the question is the same, I guess, when it comes to your grades and to us..." Her eyes traveled up and down the length of him, still reclined on the bed, breathing as hard as he would have been had he just gotten what he wanted more than anything. "How bad do you want it?"_

Jax chuckles at the memory of the only person that had truly been able to motivate him to actually memorize each of the morals of the Canterbury Tales, the symbolism of Poe's Telltale Heart, the difference between a sonnet and a ballad; Tara had exerted her own unique influence, gotten him to focus somehow while simultaneously having him panting after her for the past week. Tell the truth, he'd have probably buckled down anyway- the reminder that they were in this together would have been enough- but this is a lot more fun.

Grinning like an idiot even though he's alone in the bay, he pushes aside a brief fantasy of Tara dressed as a teacher and focuses on his study guide. He's so absorbed in it ten minutes later, that he doesn't notice Opie arriving until Ope flicks the back of the sheet of paper, causing Jax to jer in surprise

"Tara write you a love letter?" Confused, Jax's brows furrow until Opie waves a hand at the study guide. "You're sitting there with your face buried in that thing but you got the goofiest fuckin' smile on your face." He angles his head at Jax. "What's up?" Jax sighs, folding the paper in half and waving it before folding it again and stuffing it into his shirt pocket.

"Study guide. Got my last midterm today." Ope's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

"A _study guide_?" he returns, barely concealing his amusement. "Jesus, they really do have you by the balls over there at College Boys R'Us, don't they?" Jax shrugs.

"More like, I got to keep my grades up if I want JT to keep his promise and let me prospect with _your_ big ass, so let me worry about the location of my balls, a'ight?" He grins at Opie, then, nods towards Donna's Cavalier that's just pulled onto the lot; Tara's riding over to CCC with him so they can each take their last midterm and then head out to Fresno with JT, Gemma, and Trinity. "Speakin' of balls... who's got yours- Donna? Or Otto and Tiggy over there?" Ope snorts.

"I won't speak on Donna, but far's those two go-" he jerks a thumb towards the two men in question, who've evidently finished lunch and are heading towards the bay, "-they like me just fine." Now it's Jax's turn to snort.

"Yeah, probably because you act like you got a fuckin' Harley manual tattooed on your brain. This shit comes easy to you." Jax's eyes flash to Tig, who's already wearing a nasty grin in anticipation as he crosses the lot. "Christ, I forgot to even look at the fuckin' manual." Ope raises an eyebrow in question, and Jax digs the Jeep manual out of his back pocket. "I was supposed to find the correct tire size for this goddamn Jeep but I figured I'd study some first-" Opie's humorless laugh stops his explanation in its tracks.

"Bro, I know you got a lotta shit goin' on right now, and I know you got these classes you need to do well in... but you really gotta stop blowin' off shit around here. You act like it ain't important to you all the time, how do you expect anyone- especially a dick like Tig- to cut you any slack?" Jax rolls his eyes, though he knows in the back of his mind that Ope's probably right; he's about as thrilled to be here at the garage most days as he had been to register for classes at the beginning of the semester... except only the classes had exceeded his expectations. The garage remains just barely tolerable, and he's beginning to think that Tig's only about half the problem.

""I get that, man, I do- but you got any idea? About the Jeep rims, I mean." Jax watches as exasperation crosses his friend's face, quickly followed by resignation.

"You know I'll always have your back. " Ope sighs, glances at the Jeep in question, sizing it up briefly before answering. "Fifteen-inch rims, bro." He claps Jax on the shoulder before shrugging on his Teller Winston shirt; Jax grins in thanks and waves at Tara and Donna before meeting Tig's stare with one of his own. _Time to take the first test of the day._

* * *

"I can't remember the last time I was even here during the day..." They're standing in the Knowles driveway, finished with midterms, much to Jax's relief. Now, it's just a brief stop here to pick up a few things Tara needs for the weekend, then he's got a visit to the Fresno charter and Tara's surprise to look forward to. Now, though... they get to deal with Rick Knowles, who can be described as little more than a dickhead, more often than not.

"That a reason why?" Jax nods towards the Cutlass, parked haphazardly in the driveway- he's guessing the guy was at least three sheets to the wind when he'd driven home last night. Tara just shrugs and turns to head inside.

"Probably. I mean, I've been busy, but ever since he started working afternoons and evenings, there really hasn't been a reason to be here, you know?"

"Well, he's here right now... but you don't look all that thrilled about that either." She smiles sadly at him, her hand on the kitchen doorknob.

"He isn't like he used to be, but he still isn't exactly the easiest person to talk to. We've been just sort of... passing by each other the last few times I've seen him." Tara sighs. "This weekend probably isn't going to be easy to talk him into- I was sort of counting on him being at work right now." All Jax can do is nod along as she takes a deep breath and opens the kitchen door.

Rick's right there at the kitchen table- like he always seems to be- sipping coffee with a sour look on his face.

"Where you been, girl?" he demands, skipping over the pleasantries. Tara avoids his gaze, hitching the backpack further onto her back before answering.

"School, Dad. I had my classes over at CHS like usual, and then a midterm over at Charming Community-" Rick waves a hand, dismissively.

"That ain't what I meant. Where were you last night?" _Shit._ Defiantly, Tara raises her eyes to meet her father's.

"Jackson's, then Donna's- I studied with both of them, had a test in two classes today." Her voice is clear, strong, a hint of edge almost seeming to dare Rick to continue this line of questioning. For his part, Rick's eyebrows raise as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"You and this Donna seem close, seems like you're always stayin' over at her place; how come I ain't never met her?" Tara's eyes narrow.

"You're never _here,_ Dad. When am I supposed to introduce you? At two AM when you come crawling home? Or maybe I could just take her on over to the Hairy Dog, see how you hit it off-"

"Knock it off, little girl..." Rick's jaw clenches, the words practically hissed between his teeth.

"That's just it, Dad; I'm _not_ a little girl. I'll be eighteen soon, and I have a lot going for me- classes at two different places, getting an internship lined up-"

"And I warned you those classes were gonna be more trouble than they're worth-"

"They're not, though. Showing initiative, as a senior, getting ahead of the game... all of that will look good on scholarship applications." Rick says nothing in return, just shakes his head and returns to his coffee. Christ, the man looks like hell, Jax realizes as he watches him replace the cup on the table, his hand shaking so bad some of the coffee nearly spills over the rim. The bloodshot eyes, the booze Jax can smell even from the entry to the kitchen... it's a safe bet this is exactly how the guy spends all his days, and Jax is doubly glad Tara spends most of her nights at the clubhouse with him. From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of her- now directly behind her father, turning on a heel and heading down the back hallway to her room.

"Hey, Mr. Knowles," he offers, weakly, on his way past.

"Jackson." Rick's tone is even, unassuming; it's the way his eyes narrow as Jax passes that makes Jax uneasy, but he manages to make it into Tara's room unscathed.

Tara's already emptying her backpack- tossing textbooks and folders onto her bed in a pile that slowly slides sideways onto pens, highlighters, mechanical pencils... all of the tools of Tara's educational trade in a heap. Silently, she turns to her dresser, methodically removing flannels, tees, tank tops, jeans, and stacking them into an ever-growing pile that gets higher and higher until Jax can't take the silence or her robotic movements anymore and finally breaks.

"Tara!" She flinches at his voice, shoves the drawer shut, but silently yanks the pile from the dresser and dumps it on her bed. "Tara..." He's softer, this time, catches her wrist with his fingers as she lets the clothing slip out of her hands; her eyes- a clear, golden green today- meet his, pleading.

"Please, Jackson... I just want to get out of here, okay?" Jax releases her and she sends him a sad smile before stuffing the backpack full; he doesn't bother to tell her they're going for a weekend, not a month, just sits on the bed and lets his eyes wander around her bedroom. It's been a while since he's even been in here- not that it matters, since it looks about the same as it always had. To hear Tara tell it, actually, Rick had likely not even set foot in here after she'd left for San Diego, and Jax can see the vestiges of nine-year-old Tara that remain: a few remaining porcelain dolls- he smiles as he remembers their first real argument and how Tara had smashed a few of them in a fit of rage- a ruffled bedspread with a matching lamp and even more ruffly curtains, pale lilac walls, a stack of Boxcar Children and Nancy Drew books... Much like the rest of the house, the room seems trapped in a time long past, a time when Tara was nine, her father was still a father, and her mother was alive. But Jax can't help thinking of how much the room doesn't seem to fit the Tara he knows (or the Tara he remembers, really)- fussy, frilly curtains and pastels had never really been her thing, but she'd been back in Charming two and a half years, now. Why had she never changed things?

Jax's eyes drift back to her- now shoving panties and bras into a front pocket of the backpack with a vengeance, so eager is she to leave- and for the first time the thought occurs to him... has she always sort of been on the verge of leaving? She'd told him, once, that she hadn't been excited to move back to Charming, that only rediscovering their connection had made staying worthwhile; had she been so looking forward to leaving at the first opportunity that she'd never bothered to make a home here? Fuck, the thought of it hurts- though he can't really say why- and Jax reminds himself that she'd recently agreed to stay in Charming a year longer than necessary so they can be together. Still, the sight of her packing, now- even though it's for a weekend away with him- has his heart pounding and his chest feeling tight. _Fuck._

"I think that's everything. You ready?" Tara's voice, even though it's soft in the quiet room, cuts into his thoughts and it's a moment before Jax can answer.

"_I'd_ say that's everything" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood; more, he's trying to keep his voice steady despite the heavy thoughts he'd just been having. She shoots him a small smile and shoulders the backpack, easing a bit of the tightness in his chest.

Rick's pouring himself another cup of coffee when they reenter the kitchen, and he doesn't even turn around before asking-

"And where do you think you're going?" Tara stops, but doesn't turn to face her father before answering.

"Fresno for the weekend with Jackson's family." Rick snorts.

"Right- _family_. Meaning, the fuckin' President of SAMCRO, and probably all his lackeys, too."

"Dad... of _course_ Mr. Teller is going." Despite the fact that Jax nearly bursts out laughing at Tara referring to his father as Mr. Teller, he manages to keep a straight face so he can address Rick.

"Mr. Knowles, it's just my mom, my dad, my uh... half-sister, and me. None of SAMCRO is going, it ain't a club thing." Rick eyes him for a moment before shifting his attention back to Tara.

"And what makes you think I'm about to let you spend the weekend with a bunch of bikers?" Jesus Christ, had the man not listened to a goddamn word he said?

"Like Jackson just said, it's a family thing, nobody else from the club is going." She turns to face her father, then- raises her narrowed eyes to his insolent ones and continues, fiercely, "I'm _going_, Dad. The Tellers have been there for me, and I'm going to be there for Jackson." Rick snorts, raising an eyebrow at Jax in question.

"There's some, uh, extended family visiting from Ireland I've never met." He shrugs, daring Rick to ask any more questions; the man just shakes his head.

"Right... and ya need her _support_." The sarcasm is still dripping from his voice as Rick shifts his glare to Tara. "You want a weekend getaway with your boyfriend and his family of criminals? I ain't gonna stop you, just like I ain't gonna stop you from shacking up over at their goddamn clubhouse." _Jesus Christ..._ Jax doesn't really give a shit if Rick's pissed at him, but Tara's another story altogether and the fear etching its way into the lines of her face pisses Jax the fuck off.

"I ain't stupid, Tara, even though you obviously think I am. You knew I wouldn't like your bein' tied to the back of his bike any more than I'd like you sleepin' with him, but you did both of 'em anyway, didn't ya? What's the goddamn difference if you move in? Hell, you may as well patch in yourself at this point, save him the trouble." He jerks his head at Jax. "You say you want to get ahead, get ready for college and all that shit... and yet you tie yourself to someone who's gonna be a felon before he even graduates high school-" Jax just grits his teeth; _keep it up, asshole- I dare you._

"Jackson graduated early, Dad. He's taking classes over at the college just like I am-"

"I said it makes no goddamn difference, girl. You want to get knocked up, stay here in Charming, be the next Gemma Teller, you go on and do that; I ain't about to stop you- couldn't if I wanted to, could I?" Rick shrugs, casually- takes a sip of his coffee, then another and suddenly refusing to meet Tara's eyes, which are now glistening with tears. Jax bites back the urge to wrap his hands around the man's throat- it'd just make things worse- but fuck him. Fuck the way he speaks to his kid- who would do nothing but love and respect him if he only gave her the fuckin' chance- and_ fuck_ his opinion of SAMCRO and Jax's family. Evidently, Tara's having some of the same thoughts.

"I love you, Dad, but... _Fuck. You._" With that, she quietly turns and stalks towards the door- leaving it hanging open in her wake- and leaving Jax in her kitchen, staring at her father. Rick's jaw works a moment, then he, too, turns and heads towards the back hallway. Christ...

He catches up with her next to the Dyna, clipping on her helmet with her jaw set defiantly.

"Babe..." Jax doesn't know what else to say, just rests his hand at her lower back, brushing his fingers against the waistband of her jeans. Tara shakes her head much as she had in her room, effectively closing the conversation, but Jax doesn't miss the moisture in her eyes as she looks up at him- God, he'll never get used to seeing her cry. Her voice, when it comes, is small, but firm.

"Let's just go, okay?" Jax swallows, thickly, nods before swinging a leg over his bike. She's settled behind him- about to lock her arms around his waist- when he grasps her hand to drag it to his lips; he hopes the kiss he presses there says everything she wouldn't let him say seconds ago, wishes he could wrap his arms around her, instead. And as they reach the highway, seamlessly falling in behind JT's bike- Trinity pressed behind him- and Gemma's Caddy, he's pretty sure he's not imagining the wet spot slowly spreading between her cheek and the back of his shirt.

* * *

The Fresno clubhouse is a converted warehouse, a fair bit newer than the one in Charming- hell, it's a newer chapter- and is in what looks to be some sort of industrial district just outside the outskirts of town. However, the moment the gates rolled back and Jax caught sight of the gleaming rows of Harleys, he felt at home. The feeling lingers, too, in the clubhouse itself- with its familiar wood paneling, wall of mugshots, pool table, and bar, he's basically standing in a replica of Redwood; the Reaper is everywhere here, too- looming behind the bar, hung prominently over the Wall of Fame... hell, it's even on the tap handles. Jax has to admit that the bar in this place is better than the one back home- even Rick Knowles would feel comfortable sliding onto one of the stools.

The thought of Rick has his jaw tightening, his lip curling, and- subconsciously- has him reaching to pull Tara to his side. It's only then that he's reminded that Gemma had commandeered her almost as soon as their feet had hit the ground out in the lot; his mother had seized on the two prospects smoking near the chain link fence and "suggested"- in true Gemma fashion- that they get off their goddamn asses and help a woman with her bags. The prospects, in turn, had taken one look at JT's retreating figure and scrambled to unload the Caddy and show Gemma, Trinity, and Tara to the apartments on the upper floor of the warehouse, leaving Jax to follow JT into the clubhouse.

"John! Good t' see ya, Brother!" An immense man with hair so dark it's nearly black and some pretty impressive mutton chops exits what appears to be Fresno's version of a Chapel, from what Jax can see, and practically knocks JT over with a bear hug. "Jesus, it's been what, a couple years? Maybe more?" JT just shrugs and grins.

"Since all that shit with our interim Pres, at least. Before that was probably Thomas' wake." The other man sobers a bit, but JT jerks a thumb at Jax, changing the subject. "Brewster, I want ya to meet my boy, Jackson- _Jax_ if ya ask him. Jax, this is Brewster; he's been a Son since our first charter outside Redwood opened up." Brewster looks him up and down, a broad smile spanning his face.

"Jesus Christ, John, last time I seen him, he was ridin' around on a goddamn Huffy and now ya got him on, what, a Softail?" Brewster cranes his head towards the lone window at the front of the clubhouse, evidently trying to catch a glimpse of Jax's bike.

"A Dyna, actually," Jax can't help but interject, matching Brewster's grin with one of his own. Brewster whistles and claps him on the shoulder.

"Nice piece o'steel, the Dyna, I'da gone with it myself if I wasn't pushin' three bills in weight. And not a damn word, Teller-" he barks good-naturedly at JT, who's already fixing his mouth to make a comment. Brewster returns his attention to Jax. "The old man got you prospectin' yet?"

"You _see_ a prospect cut on the boy?" JT asks, folding his arms, but his good humor is belied by the familiar Teller smirk playing at his lips. Brewster just shrugs.

"Figured you'd have him wearin' the Reaper by now."

"In time; he's got high school graduation comin' up and he's takin' a couple college classes, too." Christ, Dad... Jax shifts uncomfortably, Tig's needling from this morning all too fresh. Brewster, however, just nods at him approvingly.

"Brains before bullets, eh? Makes sense. You got to have a good head on your shoulders to take the gavel of the mother charter." Jax is about to answer, about to mention that he'll start prospecting once summer hits, when he notices his father's face clouding, a bit.

"Speakin' of bullets..." JT shifts his gaze briefly to Jax before continuing. "Thanks for puttin' up our SAMBEL refugees, so to speak." Brewster shrugs.

"Ain't a problem. I know shit's been heatin' up with the IRA, alla that... Christ, shit over in Belfast is on the ten o'clock news and_ that's_ when you know it's gettin' bad. 'Sides. McGee's First Nine." JT nods, stroking his beard, thoughtfully.

"In a way, the timing of all of this shit helped us out. IRA and the Kings got more pressing worries at hand than us pullin' out of their business over here. It's all-out war over there, according to McGee. SAMBEL's still handlin' all the weapons shit, but it ain't like they can even spare any to sell at this point. And like I said, if the pipeline opens up again, every chapter is free to vote on their involvement as they see fit, but SAMCRO's out." Brewster eyes Jax a moment before responding, slowly.

"I got no idea how my guys would vote on that, if I'm bein' honest. I just know my VP's pretty damn happy we stepped back- at one point, he was pretty fuckin' close to headin' over to the Devil's Tribe with his brother; only thing stopped him is him wantin' to stick close to the hospital over by the University- ain't shit out in nowhere, Nevada." JT winces a bit, and nods, slowly.

"Yeah how is his boy?" Brewster shrugs.

"Same. Ain't gettin' worse, ain't gettin' better either." JT doesn't respond, and Jax wonders, idly, what's wrong with the Fresno VP's kid; God knows his father's well aware of what it's like to have a sick kid, to have an MC pulling focus from family shit like that. "Anyway, McGee's been good help, what with settin' up some of our alternative avenues of income." Again, Brewster's eyes flit to Jax, nervously, this time. "Jax, I know you're a legacy and all, but since you ain't even a prospect yet-"

Before he can finish effectively removing Jax from the conversation, the Fresno President is interrupted by Gemma, Trinity, and what appears to be the younger of the two prospects entering the clubhouse. At the sight of them, JT smiles a bit and claps a hand on Brewster's broad shoulder.

"We'll talk all that shit out at Church later, Brother." Catching JT's eye, Gemma smiles and heads towards the bar to greet them; Trinity's holding the hand of prospect - a kid with red hair that barely registers as Jax catches sight of the next two through the door.

The second prospect's tall, built a little like Opie; actually, he could have mistaken the guy for Ope even though he's clean-shaven and blonde, since he's got his arm thrown casually around Tara's shoulders in the way that- as far as Jax is concerned- is only okay when Ope does it. _What. The. Fuck._ The familiar white-hot, protective rage he hasn't felt for a long time- maybe since that time the Anderson kid had called Tara a croweater-claws at his chest, ratcheting up another several notches when the blonde prick slides his hand down to the small of Tara's back to usher her towards the bar. Everything in Jax's head is screaming _MINE. SHE'S MINE, DOUCHEBAG..._ but he knows he can't stalk across the room and lay the guy out like he wants to- she'd likely be pretty pissed at him and that would have nothing on the countless other members of the Fresno charter that would practically be lining up to chew his ass... not to mention, his own father.

He feels only a little bit better when Tara practically beams at the sight of him and quicksteps the last few feet to raise up on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek; it almost seems to burn on his skin as he watches the blonde prospect raise his eyebrows in surprise, then quickly mask his expression as he turns his attention to his President. Jax is sorely tempted to pull Tara into his arms and kiss her senseless right there in the clubhouse, but then Brewster's addressing the prospects and the moment is lost.

"You two get everything settled for our ladies, here?" The redhead merely nods, while the blonde asshole's mouth curves into a grin, his eyes shifting to Tara.

"Yep, showed Tara here around the upstairs a little bit, too, didn't I, darlin'?" _Darlin'?_ Tara, for her part, is smiling amicably back at him, then turns her attention to Jax.

"It really is nice- there's a kind of sitting room up there, too, and a kitchen so everyone doesn't have to come back downstairs for things in the middle of the night." Jax gives her his best smirk, then wraps a possessive arm around her waist to pull her closer.

"Oh, shit. Sorry," Brewster interjects, acknowledging Gemma and Tara. "I'm Brewster, club Pres. These are our prospects, Rusty-" he indicates the redheaded kid, "-and Thor." _Thor? Jesus Christ..._ Jax just can't help himself.

"Okay, Rusty, I get... but _Thor_?" He smirks at the tall prospect, who narrows his eyes. "Either your parents really hated you, or-"

"Or they named me after a Norse God," Blondie- Jax refuses to fuckin' call him Thor- retorts.

"Yeah, _okay._" Jax raises his chin at the guy, while Brewster rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, measure your dicks later... Anyway, it ain't gonna matter what their names are, 'cause they both answer to Prospect. Ain't that right boys?" Dutifully, the two prospects nod, and Brewster points around the circle. "You know Trinity, that's Gemma and John Teller, their son Jax, and..." The burly President raises an eyebrow at Tara, evidently waiting for her to introduce herself.

"Remember? Tara and I have already met," the blonde asshole replies, sending her a brief wink and a smile. She returns the favor with that gorgeous smile of hers and, again, Jax feels the simmering resentment come to a boil; Brewster's only half done with his _Nice to meet y-_ when Jax can't help himself anymore and blurts out, unnecessarily-

"She's my girlfriend." Tara blinks, then smiles up at him; JT shoots him an odd look- shit, he's hiding a smile- and everyone else just sort of nods slowly... except Blondie, whose jaw tightens. _Good._

Nearly an hour later, Jax and Tara are playing a round of pool with Trinity- exchanging smiles as she knocks in a stripe followed by two solids- Gemma's chatting with one of the Fresno old ladies, and an ever-growing number of patched Fresno members are filtering in, each of them roaring a greeting to JT and exchanging a round of hugs and backslaps that echo through the clubhouse. Gemma catches his eye, then, from next to the bar, and she excuses herself to head in their direction.

"Well, you look like you're showin' 'em a couple things, sweetheart," Gemma smiles a bit at Trinity, though Jax notices the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. Trinity, however, beams back at her, brandishing the pool cue.

"I knocked near all the balls in, Miss Gemma!" She's practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on her toes, and Gemma manages a more genuine smile before nodding in JT's direction.

"How 'bout you go ask your... father for a soda? He'll get one of the guys at the bar to set you up."

"Okay!" Trinity hands Tara her cue, then seems to hesitate. "Will you come with me, Tara?" Tara smiles and leans the cue against the wall before extending a hand to Trinity.

"Sure thing," They watch them go- Trinity skipping, Tara quickening her step to keep up- Gemma's smile fading a bit as she does.

"What's up, Ma?" Gemma shakes her head, bends to kiss him on the cheek; she's wearing a rueful smile as she backs away.

"I'm fine, baby." Jax eyes Trinity, currently squeezing her father around the waist, and nods in her direction.

"You good with all that?" He watches as his mother's eyes flicker to them, can't quite read her expression as she shrugs and sweeps her hair over her shoulder before returning her gaze to him.

"I'm gettin' there..." Gemma trails off, then raises her chin a bit- setting her jaw in the way she does when she's about to tell Jax, and maybe even herself, exactly how things are gonna be. "The past couple years've been... _hard_, but her bein' here- I guess it's easier than I thought it would be."

"She's a good kid, Mom," he says, grinning as JT lifts Trinity onto his back, Tara clutching a beer in one hand and Trinity's soda in the other. "Smart, well-behaved, sweet-" Gemma cuts her eyes at him and lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag before exhaling her words along with the smoke.

"Yeah, I ain't got much experience with_ sweet._"

"Well, someone's gotta soften you up," Jax cracks, tossing an arm over her shoulder. He expects her to grin at him and give him shit, but instead, her eyes narrow.

"Speakin' of softenin' someone up..." Gemma nods towards the group at the bar, and Jax's jaw clenches as the fuckin' blonde Sasquatch waylays Tara with a hand to the waist. He says something that makes her laugh, her hair swinging over her shoulder as those soft lips part and her green eyes sparkle, and for a moment, Jax isn't sure if he's horny or pissed. He settles squarely on _pissed_ when the prospect takes the beer and soda from Tara and lets her lead the way to the pool table area, followed by JT and Trinity; _pissed_ surges up into _furious_ territory when the prick shoots him a smirk over the top of her head.

"You cool with that rubbin' up on Tara?" Gemma doesn't wait for him to answer, just whispers in his ear as Douche Bag sets the drinks down on the edge of the pool table. "Most men respond to problems. Teller men take care of business _before_ there's a fuckin' problem." She shifts her gaze to the prospect, who's flashing another grin in Tara's direction.

"You need anything else, darlin'?" He's all soft edges and syrupy smiles, and Tara gives him a small smile of her own before taking Trinity's hand. Gemma moves away to stub out her cigarette, but shoots Jax a meaningful look in the process.

"Just point me in the direction to the bathroom, if you would- Trini's got to go." Blondie opens his mouth to respond, but Trinity tugs on Tara's hand urgently.

"I know where it is, already- c'mon!" Both Jax's and the prospect's eyes follow Tara as she walks away- _God, I'll never stop being grateful for that ass..._ He glares at the prospect, who's still eyeing her appreciatively- fuck, he's probably thinking the exact same thing Jax just had.

"Stay the fuck away from her, asshole," Jax grits out, curling his lip a little when all he gets in return is amusement. Blondie snorts.

"You ain't even a prospect, yet, bro. What you think you're gonna do to me?"

"Don't need to be a prospect to light your ass up," he growls, taking a step forward, already imagining the pleasant ache of his knuckles after he slams them into the guy's jaw, the resounding crack he knows it would make, the stunned, sweaty silence that would come right before he retaliated, and the flurry of blows that would ensue. Jax's vision tunnels- he sees nothing but his target- the bar, the members, the old ladies, his parents... all of that disappears as the prospect steps closer, too, bringing them nose to nose.

"You'll have the whole charter on your ass, and you know it- I don't care who your daddy is. Besides, what did you think was gonna happen, bringin' a girl like that into an MC clubhouse? And you're gonna hit me for thinkin' what every man _in_ the joint is thinkin'?" His smirk is cocky, his eyes insolent; fuck this prick, and fuck his bullshit power play... Jax knows as well as he knows his own name that even if he cold cocks Blondie in his smug-ass face, no Fresno member is going to come beat his ass, let alone the whole club. Still, the thought of adding more shit to JT's heap has him hesitating, and that's enough to cause Blondie to chuckle and step away. "Yeah, that's about what I thought." The prospect turns and heads back towards the bar, slowing to toss one last fuck-you smirk over his shoulder at Jax before someone with a patch orders him to start pulling beers.

Jesus Christ, he's never wanted to hit anyone so badly, not even David fuckin' Hale. Actually, probably only Clay has incited this kind of boiling-hot, blinding fury... and yet, he'd somehow suppressed his first instinct- to slam his fist into the blonde asshole's jaw- because he'd thought of the possible implications of his actions for him, for his father, for the club. _Brains before bullets, right?_ Only, nobody had ever said anything about fuckin' _fists._ Jax sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"You alright, Son?" Christ, he'd forgotten his father was mere feet away, at the other end of the pool table, watching him with interest. Gemma, on the other hand, has her arms folded and if Jax was in the habit of betting, he'd bet his Dyna that she'd expected him to lay the guy out.

"'M'fine," is about all he can manage before his father's leaning on the pool table with that _I'm-about-to-impart-some-wisdom-on-your-ass_ look on his face.

"Y'know, I used to be a brawler; hell, you even looked at me the wrong way, you were guaranteed a haymaker or at least a left hook; it didn't matter whether you were drunk or I was, or whether you weighed in at two-fifty or a hundred pounds soaking wet. I threw punches first, asked questions later. Probably hit a lot of guys that didn't deserve it, and a lot more who did. _That_ prick-" JT angles his head at the prospect, who is now behind the bar "-deserves it. But you kept your head, and you did it a lot better than I ever would have at your age. His time'll come, and it's probably sooner than you think..." JT trails off, and before Jax can ask him what he means, he watches both his parents' faces change- JT's suddenly looks slightly sick, and Gemma's just goes completely blank. Hell, the _air_ in the clubhouse just fuckin' changed, and before he can figure out what's up, Gemma's muttering under her breath.

"Son of a_ bitch_..." She says, slowly, and Jax follows both their gazes to the door behind him. Just inside it are a tall, light-haired man with what's possibly the craziest Fu Manchu Jax has ever seen, and a petite, slender woman with hair so blonde it's almost white. Both look care-worn and more than a little uncomfortable- which is probably justified by the look that's now on his mother's face- sheer, unadulterated hatred. "That Irish bitch ain't supposed to be here, John. You said she'd stay at the house, send McGee on to pick Trinity up. You _said_-"

"I _know_ what I_ said_, Gemma. I'll handle this." But JT doesn't get the chance, because- from down the side hall- a shriek sounds above all of the clubhouse noise.

"Ma!" Trinity's a blur of strawberry curls and whirling legs as she streaks across the clubhouse- leaving Tara behind- and into her mother's arms. The woman at the door can only be Maureen Ashby, and she kneels to fold her daughter into a hug. After a few moments, the sandy-haired man- whom Jax now knows to be Keith McGee- ruffles Trinity's hair and tugs both Trinity and Maureen towards the pool table, nodding at JT from across the room.

"I swear to God, John..." Gemma murmurs, her voice a promise of a whole heap of shit to come. "_I swear to God..._" And then they're there, standing at the end of the pool table where Jax had been moments ago before he'd instinctively moved towards his parents. God, Gemma's practically vibrating with tension, tapping her boot against the wood floor in a nervous tattoo that seems, somehow, to echo through the noisy clubhouse.

"John, Gemma." McGee smiles, thinly, and then seems unsure of what else to say, stuffing his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. Maureen, for her part, nods at the three of them- and Tara, who appears at Jax's side and takes his hand- as a tight smile crosses her lips.

"It's nice t' meet y'. I take it this is Jackson?" Jax sends the best Teller grin he can manage across the pool table towards his father's former mistress. Jesus... it's _her_. That's all he can think, at the moment-_ this_ is the woman his father had found his comfort in when things were bad in Charming. _This_ is the other woman that had carried his child. Jax looks her over and realizes, suddenly, that Maureen and his mother could not be more different in appearance; Maureen's thin where Gemma has curves, pale and wan where his mother's always had dark features and a healthy tan. Had that been her appeal, during a time when JT and Gemma were on the outs? Had his father been attracted to_ her, _or just her striking... _non-Gemma-ness?_ He's broken out of his thoughts by Tara's sharp squeeze of his hand- Christ, he's staring- and they're all looking at him expectantly.

"Yeah, and this is Tara, my girlfriend." Recognition dawns on Maureen's face, and she smiles kindly at them both.

"Aye, I've heard a fair bit about y' from Trini- she canna' stop talkin' bout her big sis." Jax grins at Tara, who's pleasantly flushed and smiling shyly at Maureen. She's always been an only child, and it had never occurred to him that Trinity could come to see her as a sister, of sorts, but now it seems obvious; what's also obvious is just how much it means to her.

"Uh..." It's clear McGee is fishing for something else to say, "How was the ride out?"

"Smooth," JT replies, "Gem drove the Caddy up with the bags, Jax and I both took the bikes-" Maureen starts, pulling Trinity towards her and turning narrowed eyes on JT.

"Trini ride up here with y'r wife, John-"

"The name's Gemma-"

"-or did y' put her on the back of y'r feckin' bike _like I asked y' not to_?" McGee closes his eyes, heaving a sigh as Gemma snorts.

"John's been riding longer than your little pre-teen ass has been alive. I'd trust that man on a bike any day-"

"Y' really wanna go with th' word _trust_, here, Gem?" Maureen's eyes are snapping, and her lips thin as they pull into what Jax can't accurately describe as a smile, but more of a grimace. "Y'know, with history bein' wha' it is..."

"Mo-" JT's voice is exasperated, but he's immediately interrupted by Gemma, who's now leaning over the pool table that's- thankfully- separating the two women.

"Listen here, you little gash- my level of _trust_ ain't any of your concern-"

"And my girl inn't any o' _yours_." Maureen returns, defiantly, raising her chin. Christ, maybe the woman's a lot more like his mother than he'd initially thought...

"The hell she ain't! You _made_ her my concern the day you sat your bony ass down to write that goddamn letter, ya Irish whore-"

"_ENOUGH,_ Gem! Not in front of the kids!" JT's voice is thunderous, hurling the entirety of the clubhouse into stunned silence and causing the two women to fall quiet. Then, more softly- "Come off it, Mo, you knew this would be an issue when you decided to show up here. I warned you we were makin' a weekend out of it and you told me McGee, here would be comin' to pick her up. You told me you ain't hardly set foot in this clubhouse, so why today, huh?" Maureen averts her eyes as JT continues. "I don't expect the two a' you to get along, and that's all my fault. But I do expect ya to act like goddamn adults in front of our daughter."

"Yeah, _our_ daughter... About tha'-" Comes Maureen's reply, significantly more subdued than before. JT sighs.

"Appointment's tomorrow at the clinic you picked. Paternity results should be in before next week's out."

"Aye, an' I'll file th' birth certificate paperwork as soon as they're in. Y'll need t' sign it-"

"Consider it done. But I'll be expectin' visitation to be discussed soon's that all goes through." Maureen eyes JT for a long moment, her glare softening the slightest bit before she addresses her daughter.

"Aye. Trini, hug your Da g'bye." Obediently, Trinity rushes forward to hug JT, who kisses her head and whispers something into her hair. Then, to everyone's surprise, she bestows the same upon Gemma as Maureen flinches slightly, but seems to steel herself; Jax and Tara, too, receive hugs of their own before Trinity returns to her mother and takes her hand. They head towards the door with a wave from Trinity, leaving McGee to look apologetic.

"She insisted on comin' John, I'm sorry." Gemma huffs out a laugh, but JT just waves a hand inconsequentially.

"_Jesus Christ..._" JT sighs and runs a hand over his beard. "Let's get church started so we can all get to relievin' some tension; God knows I need a fuckin' whiskey... or six."

"Alright, Brother, I'll let Brewster know." As McGee turns away, Gemma rounds on JT, but he puts a hand up, cutting her off before she can even begin.

"I had no control over that, Gem, so back off." His eyes flit to Jax and Tara, then back to his wife. "I just want you to remember that there are others watching- others who don't need to know any more of the SAMCRO President's personal shit than they already do. Others including our _kids_. So, it might do you good to remind you that Jackson, here, showed more self-control than you did tonight-"

"Jackson ain't got any more responsibility to this club than I do, John." Gemma bites, fiercely. "And if you want me to show self-control, you'll make goddamn sure that bitch never finds herself in Charming." Thankfully, the voice that comes next is Brewster's, filling the clubhouse as he stalks towards the Chapel doors.

"CHURCH!"

A couple hours, several games of pool, and some greasy bar food -plus a few beers- later, Tara's sitting on his lap, her cheek pressed against his. This is all he's wanted all evening- all damn day, really; after the exam, the run-in with her father, the blonde dickhead that- even now- keeps sending winks over at Tara, the tension between his parents and the bullshit with Maureen... This is a reminder that just being in Tara's presence goes a long way towards driving out all the negatives, even as they continue to pile up around him. He squeezes her tighter and turns his head to brush his lips against hers, catching the prospect's gaze out of the corner of his eye and sending him a surreptitious middle finger at the small of Tara's back. He doesn't even take the time to gauge the guy's response because then Tara's kissing him in earnest, sweeping away all thoughts of Maureen, Gemma, even the blonde prick. Until she drags her lips to his ear.

"You know I love you, right? And if I wanted a hot, blonde, biker, I got everything I need right here in front of me." Jax snorts, tries to shrug it off, but then Tara's pulling back to rest her forehead on his and the green eyes burning into his have him nodding, reluctantly. "I won't lie, though, the thought of you actually getting in his face is a little hot." Christ, he's beginning to regret waiting to confront the guy until she was in the bathroom with Trinity. Then, she looks aside- in that way she has of gathering her thoughts before speaking- and Jax can see that the brief moment of playfulness is gone.

"What is it, Babe?" Tara shrugs, wrinkling her nose.

"I mean, he _did_ make me nervous, a bit. I was glad when you said I was your girlfriend, it meant I didn't have to keep saying it. At least, not as often." Jax's stomach drops, a bit, and he pulls back to search her face for any signs of distress.

"_Keep_ saying it? You mean that asshole-" Tara stops him with a hand on his chest.

"Not like _that_ Jackson. He just kept calling me darlin', standing a little too close, that kind of thing. I tried to play it off, but it was..." Her face scrunches as she tries to put her finger on the perfect word- something he's always found adorable. "Uncomfortable," she says, finally, decidedly. "I was just _uncomfortable_. He didn't try anything, but..." Tara shrugs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again, and Jax is prevented from acting on his first instinct- to stalk across the room to the prospects and hangarounds and drive his fist, repeatedly, into the guy's asshole face- for the second time tonight. It had been bad enough when Jax had thought he was just being a jealous asshole, but now that he knows the guy's actually making his girl feel uncomfortable, well... all bets are off.

Before he can formulate a plan to catch Blondie alone- maybe twist his arm behind his back or hold his sneaker on the guy's balls until he promises to stay the fuck away from Tara- the CHapel doors burst open and the patched members pour out, laughing and joking loudly as they head to the bar. Then, almost as if he'd just remembered, a slender guy with a Treasurer patch stands on a chair to cup his hands around his mouth in a megaphone of sorts.

"Friday Night Fights! Friday Night Fights! Friday Night Fights!" The others pick up the chant almost immediately, and it becomes louder and louder, drowning out even the clinking of the beer bottles as they're rapped on tables and the bar top. Finally, Brewster's waving his hands, mouthing _alright, alright, alright_, and the place is bedlam. When it dies down, Brewster calls for silence.

"Fine, but none of you assholes better complain tomorrow when your old ladies are pissed you showed up at home with black eyes and busted noses." A chorus of booes echoes in the room. "Prospects, get the shit set up. Anyone who wants in on the action, whether fightin' or bettin', come see me." With the clubhouse suddenly a flurry of activity and excitement, Tara rolls her eyes.

"I guess I better go find your mom, now that they're out of Church. You think she went up to the room?" Jax shrugs, distracted, an idea already forming in his mind.

"Yeah, maybe." Tara presses a kiss to his cheek and disentangles herself from him, nodding towards the door.

"I'll go check. And who knows, this whole fight night thing could be sort of interesting." _Oh you bet your ass it will be, Babe._

Jax finds Brewster behind the bar filling an empty pint glass; the man smiles and tilts his head, indicating the glass.

"You want a beer, kid?"

"Sure," Brewster slides him the near-full one, and reaches to get himself another empty, raising an eyebrow when Jax lowers himself onto the stool across from the tap.

"You need somethin'?"

"The fight night- I want in." The Fresno President chuckles, nodding at a half sheet of paper lying on the bar top next to him.

"I'm gonna assume you mean fightin', then, since the minimum bet's five hundred. Anyone in particular you're lookin' to challenge? Provided your old man's alright with it, that is." Jax nods toward the door, where the prospects have just begun ushering everyone out into the lot.

"Yep. The prospect, the tall blonde one. Odin, I think his name is." At this, Brewster nearly spills his beer, he's laughing so hard.

"Thor. But yeah, that guy seems to have a way with pissin' all over another guy's territory, doesn't he?" So other people had noticed, Jax thinks, clutching his beer so hard he has a fleeting worry the glass might break. "He's harmless, though- he ever laid a hand on a woman that she didn't want, we'd have thrown his ass outta here and kept his kutte." Brewster takes a sip of his beer and eyes him, carefully; Jax just bites his tongue. _But he did lay a hand on my girl,_ he wants to say, _and he fuckin' made her uncomfortable._ Instead, he shrugs and takes a sip of his own beer.

"Still. Can I fight the guy? I just don't want to make shit weird between my Dad and your club." He tries not to sound too eager, just waits several silent seconds until Brewster throws up his hands and picks up the pencil to add his name to the list.

"Fine, kid, if that's really what you want. Don't worry about my guys- fight night's like Vegas; what happens during fight night, stays at fight night. You'll go second, so don't go too far, just listen for your name."

And that's how, thirty minutes later, Jax finds himself gathered around the ring with the rest of the Fresno charter, cheering on the slim Son that had suggested the fight night in the first place. He's holding his own and the fight's lasting a lot longer than Jax would have expected, with both guys trading punches right up until the final bell. They're hugging- sweaty, bruised, but with all their initial enmity long gone- when Jax notices Brewster across the ring, leaning in to speak with JT. His father's eyes fly up to meet his, surprised, but then JT shrugs and Jax lets out a sigh of relief- this is happening.

"Alright, alright, get the fuck outta there..." Brewster grumbles, shoving the two fighters towards the ropes before clearing his throat and making a megaphone of his hands again. "Next up, we got a matchup for the next generation. Thor! Jax! Get your asses in the ring!" The crowd breaks into a roar, drowning out whatever the prospect is saying as he swings a leg over the bottom rope and slides into the ring. Jax, too, climbs up and into the ring and as a second thought, shrugs out of his hoodie and t-shirt, tossing them to JT.

"Hey kid- you want your knuckles wrapped?" a burly guy that reminds him a lot of Bobby is asking, proffering a roll of athletic tape; Jax shrugs.

"Sure, I dunno." The Bobby clone rolls his eyes.

"Trust me, kid- you want wrapped." Wordlessly, Jax presents his hands, then casts a glance over his shoulder to find that Blondie, too, is shirtless and getting wrapped. Bobby II finishes quickly and releases Jax to take a few practice swings, drawing some hooting and hollering from the crowd. Seconds later, his opponent is released as well, and Brewster makes his way to the center of the ring.

"Shake hands, boys." Jax extends his hand and the prospect grasps it, that fucking, ever-present smirk still on his face; well, Jax fully intends to knock it right off.

"Ahh, there's our girl," Blondie murmurs, jerking his head towards the exterior steps descending from the second floor of the warehouse. Bristling, but choosing to ignore the term _our girl_, Jax finds Gemma and Tara making their way towards the throng surrounding the ring; Gemma's smiling, proudly, but Tara... Tara, for once, he can't read. Actually, he'd never really considered her reaction to watching him fight, at all- she'd never witnessed any of his dust-ups with guys at school, and not even Tig had ever been provoked to actually fight him at the clubhouse. Then, the prospect's voice drags him back to the present. "Nice choice, though, Teller- she's definitely a fine piece of ass."

Jax has run into a lot of cocky assholes in his day- and he's well aware that his own ego is pretty much legendary at CHS- but this motherfucker apparently has a death wish. Normally, he'd be tamping down his rage, but now... _Now_ he lets it build, lets it spread through him in waves until his heart's racing and his vision narrows. The first rule of fighting, JT had always told him, was to shut up- let your opponent do all the shit talking he wants, let it feed you, let it motivate you- and don't do him the same favor. This prick's breaking all the rules.

And then Brewster's stepping away, and the bell's clanging, and all Jax can see is Blondie; he's zeroing in on his hands, ducking a left, a couple of jabs, ignoring the crowd, the noise, even the guy's stupid-ass face- the only thought on his mind is making the son of a bitch pay for each and every little comment he'd made. Suddenly, there's a right coming at him, which he ducks, and then Jax takes his first swing- a right cross- and connects, sending the prospect staggering back. He's back up quickly, wiping a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth and grinning, bottom teeth stained red.

Instantly, Jax is on him again, removing the smile from his face with a flurry of jabs to the body before Blondie ducks his right hook and connects with one of his own. Pain explodes behind his left eye, which nearly instantly swells, restricting his vision and sending him stumbling back several steps. They circle each other a moment, both recovering from brutal blows to the head, until Jax notices the prospect swaying a bit. That's what he needs- instability. Distraction. Weakness. A quick step and he's there, dodging a left; two quick jabs to the ribs have the guy curling over, and then Jax puts all his might, all his body weight, into a powerful uppercut that's going to practically knock him the fuck over if he misses, or end the goddamn fight if he connects.

Jax watches in a haze, in some fucked-up sort of slow motion, as his fist rises like a goddamn phoenix and finds its home under his opponent's chin. At first, he isn't sure if the crack he hears is Blondie's jaw or his knuckles- which now seem to be on fire, the pain is so intense. The prospect seems to travel backwards slowly, hitting the ropes before his whole body pitches forward and onto the mat, motionless. Deftly, Jax kneels next to his head to hit him again, and then someone's dragging him back towards his corner of the ring. He barely notices the bell clanging in his struggle to free himself, to continue pummeling the guy, before he realizes what, exactly, it means.

"Whoa, slow down, kid; it's over." It's the Bobby clone, and he's chuckling and tossing him a towel before jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Blondie, who's now at least on his knees, but conscious again. "You knocked the fuck outta him, kid. I swear to God I heard that last blow break his fuckin' jaw." Jax just shrugs and swipes at his face with the towel, then nods at the prospect, who gives him the finger. Alright then, dickhead. Grinning, he scans the crowd to find Tara and Gemma pushing their way towards the front to greet him, next to JT.

"Jesus Christ, Jackson," is all his father can say, smiling smugly and handing him back his shirt as Jax ducks out of the ring. A few of the Fresno members clap him on the shoulder or back as they all make their way to the edge of the crowd, but most are already preoccupied by the next fight about to take place in the ring. When they get to an open area of the lot, JT and Tara continue walking, but Gemma stops him. She smiles, knowingly, as she pulls him into a hug- and shocks him a second later by landing a punch of her own on his shoulder instead.

"What the hell, Mom?" Gemma just shakes her head.

"That's for the tattoo, asshole." she replies, indicating the spot on his shoulder she'd just hit, a slowly reddening patch creeping outside the bounds of the tattoo. _Christ, really?_

"I'm eighteen, Ma, I don't have to ask you if I can get a tattoo-"

"I know that, I just always figured your first one would be more of a... family thing. I dunno. I definitely didn't expect to have to see your first tattoo for the first time with a bunch of goddamn strangers." Gemma sighs, turning him at the shoulder to get a closer look. "Well, let's see it, then-" Almost before she's done speaking, Jax can see the moment when the tattoo truly registers, and her hand flies to her mouth. Curious, JT moves to stand behind her, a soft smile crossing his lips as he, too, reads the words inside the Celtic knot- _Forever My Brother._

Wordlessly, Gemma pulls him into a hug, resting her chin on his shoulder, and behind her, Jax can feel JT join in. They stand there- the only remaining Teller men in the world as far as Jax is concerned- Gemma sandwiched between them; then, Gemma's pushing at his shoulders, backing away to self-consciously dab at a tear or two, and chuckling ruefully before taking his hand.

"Thomas would have loved it, baby; he'd have been so proud of the man you've become, just like I am" Her voice is soft, especially for his outspoken, usually-brash mother. She squeezes his hand, seems to want to say more but when she catches JT's eye, the current that passes between them is almost tangible, even for Jax. He stands there, a bit awkwardly, until his mother drops his hand and swipes at her eyes again. "I'm goin' to bed." Without another word, she's headed back towards the metal stairs and the dorm rooms above, and it occurs to Jax that she'd just come down minutes ago, before the fight. JT sighs, watching her go; the same must be on his mind, and Jax is about to say so when his father speaks.

"I'm proud of you too, son- for the decisions you've made these past months, the one you made tonight... and so much more." JT spins to face Jax, lowering his voice to a murmur. "You just see to it that you never make_ her_ feel the way I've made your mother feel, because that hurt... it don't just go away." Jax can only nod, glimpsing Tara several feet over his father's shoulder, gazing at him with soft eyes. _Over my dead body._But what he says is simply,

"Never." With a nod, JT pulls him into a brief hug, then looks him up and down.

"Better get Doc to clean you up a little bit and head to bed yourself. You don't want to miss your, uh, appointment tomorrow morning." Briefly, his father's eyes are alight with excitement. "Myself, I got to go take that goddamn blood test, prove what we all already know."

"It's good though, isn't it? That way, Trinity's officially a Teller, the way it should be?" JT shrugs.

"The name and all that... that's on her Ma. But all the legalities will be in place regardless, just in case anything ever happens to me." His smile turns a bit sad. "And we both know that even though we're nearly out of the things that were killin' us, in this life, there are no goddamn guarantees." JT pauses, seems to shake off whatever thoughts were coming next, and turns towards Tara. "Now go get your girl to bed."

As he passes her, JT stops to give Tara a hug and a kiss on the cheek, murmuring something Jax can't hear. She smiles at him, a bit surprised, then crosses to Jax as his father continues on towards the stairs.

"Jesus Christ, Jackson..." As she nears him, her hand rises to brush his jaw; her fingers slowly graze his swollen eye, his split lip, and even the sting of her touch feels good, healing in itself. Jax closes his eyes and revels in her cool fingers on him for a long moment before she speaks again. "I said he made me uncomfortable, not that he-"

"_Nobody_ makes my girl feel like that and gets away with it. And nobody calls you _their girl_ and gets away with it. That prick had it comin', Babe." She gives him a small smile.

"I know I said it was hot, you wanting to get in his face... but _this?_" Again, her fingers drift up to his swollen eye. "How _dare_ you mar this beautiful face?" He chuckles, but she's insistent. "I mean it, Jackson, I hate that you're hurt, because of me."

"I did it for you, Tara, but if I'm bein' honest... I did it for me, too. That dickhead just wouldn't let up. Anyway... " he leans in to touch his forehead to hers, "I hear the ladies love a man with a few battle wounds. How 'bout you help me clean 'em up, Doc?" Tara's brow quirks with interest and he's immediately laughing, loving this sexy, sassy, girl that's nearly as insatiable as he is. _Fuck, how did that happen?_ They've really done a number on each other; somehow, over the years, she's turned out to be just as adventurous as he is, and he's wound up wanting- no, _needing_\- her, and only her... It's completely the opposite of how he'd envisioned his eighteen-year-old self before she'd returned, but he just can't bring himself to be bothered by it. For now, though, he shoots her a grin. "Not like that, Babe- we gotta get some sleep, got an early morning tomorrow." Confused, she pulls back, a bit.

"Early? But I thought we were waiting for your parents to get back from the paternity test before we headed back to Charming?"

"Yeah, early. And we ain't goin' to Charming." Tara opens her mouth, probably to ask why, or where, but Jax just rests his fingers right there on her lips and grins. "Don't ask where. Just be ready to head out tomorrow morning at seven." Sighing, she brushes her lips against his fingers, and then angles her head towards the stairs.

"Alright, Teller. Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

The morning is bright, the spring California sun already heating the pavement enough at only seven-thirty AM that Jax had foregone his hoodie in favor of riding in just a t-shirt. The road feels different, here, he thinks- more wide-open, with more possibilities, even on the outskirts of the city of Fresno itself. They'd packed up and left even before his parents and not a soul had been in the Fresno clubhouse, to Jax's relief; sure, it had been a fair fight, but that didn't mean that asshole prospect was above picking an unfair one. Overall, though, he'd just been enjoying spending the morning with Tara, outside the confines of Charming- stopping at a small stand for breakfast tacos, seeing the skyline of the city as they cruise into town, passing parks, malls, museums... it all seems different, _better_. Tara squeezes his waist and he knows she, too, can feel how the air's changed around them.

The homes get a little larger- Greek letters appearing on the largest, the apartment complexes more frequent, the pedestrians more numerous, even for a Saturday. When they pass a towering, concrete structure in the landscaped median, Jax knows they're close; he can feel the moment the words upon it register to Tara-_ California State University, Fresno_\- and smiles as she clutches him ever tighter. She waits until they're dismounting in front of a large brick building with a sign in the grass reading _Student Affairs_ before peppering him with questions.

"What are we doing here, Jackson? Why didn't you tell me? Is this where the paternity tests-" She stops, abruptly, as a girl around their age- well, probably a little older- exits the building and approaches them. She's wearing an official-looking Fresno State jacket, as well as a nametag that Jax can't make out, even when she's within a few steps.

"Are you Knowles, Tara?" she asks, reading the name off what appears to be a small stack of index cards. Tara nods, bewildered. "Alright," the girl says, smiling. "Follow me."

"What is this, Jackson?" Tara hisses, again, as they follow the girl down the sidewalk and towards a large, concrete fountain.

"A campus tour, dummy," Jax returns, smirking and looping his arm around her waist. "Figured we couldn't ride all the way to Fresno without taking a look, and Brewster knew a guy that could get us in on a Saturday; hell, they got majors in biology, chemistry, fuckin' _biochemistry_ if you like 'em both... health science, nursing..." He stops, takes her hands in his to regard her seriously for a moment. "You couldn't go to med school here, Babe, but the Sons have got a charter right in town, and you could do all your undergrad- even a Masters- here. I just..." Jax shrugs, gauging her reaction before continuing. "There's no pressure to choose this, choose here, I just wanted you to know I'm serious. About the plan... about _us_."

For a moment, neither pay attention to the tour guide, who's stopped about half a block up the sidewalk, waiting. Jax just takes in Tara's expression of wonder as she looks around at the rows of brick buildings, the passing students, watches as she fully realizes the potential a place like this has for a person like her. Instantly, he knows that this was the right move, a thought that's cemented into place as he tugs on her hand so they can catch up with the tour guide and she practically skips down the sidewalk next to him. She'd be happy here- hell, she'd fuckin' _thrive_ in a place like this- and he knows in his heart it's everything she deserves; he also knows he'll do everything he can to help make it happen for her... Jax can only hope there's still room left for him when it finally does.


	7. Ch 7

****I own nothing you recognize****

What is it about a bike that suddenly makes every trickle of sweat, every stray droplet of oil that inevitably finds its way under his nails, onto his clothes, into his hair- every minute of diligent fiddling, seem worth it? A more accurate question, Jax supposes as he wipes his hands on a nearby towel, is: what is it about _his_ bike that transforms the mind-numbing chores he'd carried out on probably a hundred cages by now- and probably nearly as many bikes- into a labor of love? Because somehow, when it's his Dyna under his hands instead of the odd Chevy or some banker's Yamaha, simple work suddenly becomes tender loving care.

There's probably a reason almost everyone he knows who rides, occasionally refers to his bike as _She_\- there's a clear parallel between the way most of these guys treat their bikes and the way they view some woman in their life or other; even the more... _seedy_ members of the club- the ones better known for their penchant for violence than for their generosity- aren't immune. For Otto, it's Luann- any fool can see that even though he's probably the most fucked up out of all of them, the way he treats Luann is almost legendary in Charming; hell, half the time Jax wonders if he's got a split personality, so quickly can he go from menacing and wild-eyed to almost tender when it comes to her. For Happy- who's down from Tacoma for a while to help his mother recover after some medical procedure or other- the answer's obvious; even though the gruff biker goes through women like Piney goes through cigarettes, Jax witnessed him actually tear up just last week after a particularly rough phone conversation regarding his mother's condition. Shit, even Tig's got two daughters he's always calling from the bar phone, and it's about the only time he isn't bitching at Jax.

For himself, Jax knows- hell, everyone in the state probably knows by now, since his run-in with the Fresno prospect had traveled quickly through the Sons grapevine- it's Tara. He'd been pretty much a dick, in more ways than one, when it came to girls practically ever since he'd figured out what his dick was for. Tara had knocked him on his ass, and, consequently, there's practically nothing he wouldn't at least consider doing to keep her in his life; it's a bit of amusing irony, then, that both Tara and the Dyna had become truly his on the same day- his sixteenth birthday. And here he is, over two and a half years later, with little interest in other girls or other rides.

Sure, he can't say he's never looked at either; Rick's Cutlass is pretty damn sweet as far as cages go, and the croweaters had only stepped up their game since he'd moved into the apartment, much as Tara had feared. Pushing them away was easy; listening to the endless shit guys like Tig, Otto, and even Bobby liked to lay on him nights that Tara wasn't there, or was in the back studying... that's a little harder to swallow. Tig's MO seemed to be about the same his approach towards anything else- needling Jax loudly, with a blonde on his lap, about how the Prince wouldn't lower himself to toy with a croweater, or how he's too hoity-toity now to slum it with the likes of them. The rest of the guys just crack occasional jokes about being pussy whipped, for the most part, but as a near-prospect, all Jax can do is grit his teeth and move the fuck on.

Still, though- these past few months with Tara staying in the clubhouse with him are some of the best he can remember; it's like everything's worth it when it comes to her- she just makes everything _better,_ somehow. Things will keep moving that way, he reassures himself, as long as they manage to stay on track with the plan. And that, he thinks with a chuckle, definitely means never revealing his theory about the parallels between Tara and his bike... something tells him a 'girls aren't objects' speech would be coming his way.

"Jackie!" Jax is jerked out of his reverie- still holding the shop towel- to see Chibs and Kozik headed across the lot. They're not usually on until afternoons, lately, and he's relieved to see them for a change instead of Tig or even Otto- who tends to just chuckle and shake his head at Tig's antics.

Besides his father (and, Piney, really, though Piney probably rides his ass about treating Tara right even more than JT does) only Chibs and Kozik leave him alone about his continuing obsession with Tara. He figures, however, that's got more to do with the fact that both of them have their own preoccupations- Chibs with a dark-haired woman Jax has only seen in the photos he's occasionally seen Chibs fingering before slipping back into his kutte pocket, and Kozik with his continuing sobriety- than it does with Jax. But they seem to understand why he hasn't had a croweater on his lap since Tara had returned, and they don't' give him any shit over it, either.

"Bike's lookin' good, Jax," Kozik observes as they enter the bay and Chibs leans against a table. "She need an oil change or somethin'?" Jax nods.

"Yeah. Well, sorta." Koz just looks at him, quizzically, and Jax shrugs. "Isn't due for another five hundred miles or so, I just figured I needed as much practice as I can get, you know? I ain't exactly our best mechanic." It's a true statement- and one Tig had reminded him of numerous times in the past weeks- so he's surprised when Kozik snorts.

"Ain't nobody _need_ you to be the best mechanic. All you gotta do as a prospect is show up and do what's asked of ya." Kozik grins. "There's a reason they got me out doin' repo runs most afternoons, y'know?"

"Ach," Chibs scoffs, "Tha' inn't because y're a shite mechanic- though ye are," Kozik gives him the finger. "It's because y're tha only one of us tha' don' look a criminal." Chibs pushes off the table to pinch Koz's face between two fingers. "Jus' lookit tha' pretty face. If y're a thirty-year-ol' woman with shite credit, which of us inn't gonna have yeh runnin' out the back door?" He indicates the scarring on his face with a laugh. "Sure inn't me. Bobby and Otto, they got tha long hair; Tig's still got tha' Marine haircut jus' like ye do, but them crazy eyes o'his..." Chibs shakes his head and pulls a smoke from his kutte pocket.

"Speakin' of Tiggy, I got to go meet his ass." Chibs raises an eyebrow and yanks a lighter from his pocket, motioning for Jax and Kozik to follow him out of the bay.

"Yeh mean t' check ou' tha' apartment, then." Kozik shrugs. Jesus Christ, is Kozik actually considering living with Tig?

"It's actually a two-bedroom house, man. Don't even got to share a bathroom, one's on- _what_?" Kozik stops abruptly, eyeing Jax with amused confusion, and Jax tries to close his mouth.

"Uh, nothin', it's just..." _Fuck it._ "You'd actually move into a house? With _Tig_?" Both Kozik and Chibs burst out laughing and it's a minute before Kozik can respond.

"TIg ain't that bad, Jax. He just treats you like shit 'cause you're a prospect- hell, not _even_ a prospect yet. Him and I, we got shit on for a year, and now he's just havin' fun with you 'cause he's glad it ain't him. But once you're patched in-" Jax shakes his head.

"Guy's a dick and has been since he showed up-" Kozik only snorts.

"You ever _met_ Piney? _Otto_? Hell, we're all dicks, kid- you kinda have to be to survive around here. Only difference is, TIg 's sorta got it out for you because he's lookin' forward to bein' the one who dishes it out instead of the one who takes it... That, and you're JT's kid and the one thing he don't want is to look like he's playin' favorites." Yeah fuckin' right- who would be a big enough idiot to believe Tig would ever play favorites with _Jax_? Christ, the thought's laughable, since the guy's been giving him a hard time since the day he'd shown up on the lot.

"It ain't even about me, really; I can handle his shit. He makes any more little comments about Tara, though..." Jax glances at Chibs, sees the begrudging acknowledgement cross his face as he takes a drag from his cigarette, and back at Kozik, who shrugs.

"Listen, man. I ain't sayin' you got to let him say whatever he wants about your girl, or that you gotta like him. But if there's one thing I can say for Tig, it's that he values loyalty above anything else. You do what you gotta do, do your time like everyone else, he'll ease up once you patch in." Jax can't help chuckling.

"Yeah, that's only a fuckin' year from now." Wordlessly, Chibs proffers his pack of cigs, and Jax takes one, turning to grin a bit at Kozik as he lights up. "And hey- I ain't the one gotta live with him." Kozik just shakes his head and returns his smile.

"Nope." He buttons the top snap of his kutte and jerks his head toward the row of bikes. "I gotta go, he's probably already at the place, and he makes the landlady fuckin' nervous." As Kozik turns away, Jax is hit with a vision of Tig smiling intensely at a gray-haired woman in a pantsuit- or, better yet, he and Kozik splitting household chores- and bursts out laughing. Chibs shoots him an amused look.

"Wha' ye laughin' at, Jackie?'

"Tig freakin' out the landlady... Tig mowin' the lawn... Tig takin' out the trash... hell, take your pick." Chibs joins him in a laugh but sobers quickly, taking a long, slow drag from his cigarette before responding, thoughtfully.

"Tiggy had an old lady once, back when I dinnae know 'im... them girls' Ma." He leans back onto the chain link fence that makes up the barrier between the lot and the rest of Charming, slowly, causing it to creak against his weight. "He don' say much abou' tha'- t' any of us, really- but I was thinkin'… Maybe tha's why he's got shit t' say abou' you and the Doc." Jax just shrugs, not really caring one way or the other why the fuck Tig is the way he is.

"You mean, jealousy? Or..." Chibs mirrors his shrug, flicks away his cigarette butt, before stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

"I dunno, Jackie. It's jus' tha' none of us are wha' yeh'd call _normal_, I guess; ye don' come to the Sons unless y're lookin to find a way out, far as I c'n see it. Look a' me- Real IRA tried t' recruit me an' the only friend I had in the world sent me here. It dinnae last 'cause I got shipped off to tha Royal goddamn Army before I could think straight. Tha' shite dinnae last long either, and I tried t' make a real go of the IRA but tha' ended even worse than the feckin' Army..." A flash of pain crosses Chibs' scarred face before his expression turns bitter. "My wife, my baby... both gone, an' Belfast shipped me off here before I got m'self killed."

"The IRA... they killed them?" Jax breathes, unable to comprehend the sort of people that would murder a woman and child simply to hurt a man. Chibs hangs his head.

"They ain't _dead._.. but they're dead t' _me_, Jimmy O made sure o' tha'." He focuses on something in the distance, then, and Jax is tempted to follow his gaze when Chibs spits, fiercely- "He took m' wife an' baby daughter as his own, took m' smile in more ways than one-" he gestures at his scarred cheeks. "An' he did it all to mark me as a feckin' traitor t' tha goddamn _C__ause_. He knew it was the only way I was leavin' Ireland, 'sides in a box... an' sometimes I wished he'd've put me in the box instead."

"Jesus Christ, Chibs... I'm sorry." Jax doesn't say more, because he can't- not really. Some Irish asshole had literally stolen Chibs' whole fuckin' family away- his girl, his baby... Christ, he'd even sliced open his face; suddenly, the thought of SAMCRO distancing itself from Ireland takes on a whole new meaning- something real, something solid behind JT's mysterious drive to drag them out of business in Belfast. After a long moment of silence, Chibs pushes himself off the fence, jams his hands into his pockets, and fixes Jax with an earnest look.

"Listen, Jackie, I dinnae tell yeh any o' tha' for y'r sympathy; no' fer me, and no' fer Tiggy. I guess tha point is, the Sons is full o' people like us- people withou' fam'ly, people hidin' from somethin' or some_one._ Hell, the First Nine started the club because they'd lost nearly everythin' in 'Nam, dinnae have naught to return to. An' here, we've all found our fam'ly, a place t' belong. This club's been tha best thing t' happen t' me since my Kerrianne was born- kep' me safe, gave me brothas, gave me a reason t' live, y'know?"

Jax nods- what Chibs is saying rings true for nearly every Son he can think of, except..."An' I know wha' y're thinkin', lad," Chibs heads him off, knows exactly where his mind had been going. "Ye got most o' yer right now, _and_ the Doc- you ain't struggled like we did, at least not yet." Jax shrugs, although the Scot's hit the nail on the proverbial head; even though enough bad shit has happened in his life between losing Tommy and watching Clay and his parents drive a wedge so deep into the heart of his family he hadn't ever been sure they'd be able to push it out... he's not ever been a lost boy, never been completely cut off from his family or his home, never truly felt like his life was hanging by a thread, just waiting to be severed. Chibs smiles at him, then, reaches to squeeze Jax's shoulder. "You'll find y'r place, lad, 'specially with y'r Da movin' us away from the things that were killin' us. I hope ye never gotta go through any of the shite we did to keep it tha' way... but yeh don't _have_ to in order to have a place in tha' brothahood. SAMCRO's in y'r blood, boyo. Ye jus' remember tha'."

* * *

"This time next week, you will- if you're as smart as I think you are- have prepared for your final exam in this class. Most of you will be moving on to college after this, so trust me when I say that part of my intent when I designed this class was to prepare you for college-style work, and college-level exams. Do not blow this off; take it as an opportunity to learn what method of study, what test-taking technique, works best for you. Any questions?"

Tara glances across the aisle at Donna, who appears to be taking what Mr. Huber- their Trigonometry teacher- is saying fairly seriously. She has to hand it to the guy, he'd managed to make his class very similar to the ones she's taking over at CCC-a more severe absence/tardy policy than the school at large, frequent quizzes, no rewards for extra effort, and so on. She'd tried to warn Jackson of this very thing before midterms, and- luckily- he'd listened; however, his professors seem to adore him, and Tara's pretty sure that has a lot more to do with his natural affinity for anything with words than even the Teller charm. Not that she'd particularly blame any of them for falling victim to that crooked smile or those sincere blue eyes- Tara allows herself a small smile. Just last week, she'd witnessed Jackson talk his way into an extra day on an assignment for Rhetoric class, and although he'd had a great excuse- the computer lab on campus was down for maintenance- he'd turned on the charm anyway and the professor had actually blushed.

She sighs, anticipating- but not really looking forward to- the upcoming week. Finals at Charming High, finals at Charming Community College, the scheduling conflicts with Jackson and Donna that come with both since CCC finals tend not to be on regular class days... not to mention the wait afterwards to find out if she'd managed to snag _Summa Cum Laude_ or even Salutatorian since it's a foregone conclusion that David Hale's Valedictorian, even though he'd not taken nearly the courseload Tara had.

A twinge of regret presents itself, as usual, at the thought of David, but Tara pushes it away. Thank God Donna and Opie had been here, mornings, to provide a friendly face in the hallways, provide a bit of levity, tell her when she's being too serious... but not even the two of them had been able to take Jackson's place- not really. In theory, she supposes, it's been good for she and Jackson to have a small degree of separation- it can't be healthy to feel like you need your boyfriend with you all the time, after all; it was just shitty luck that the times she needed him the most happened to be at CHS. Bitchy cheerleader types that had settled, previously, for giving Jackson sultry looks from afar didn't tend to leave her alone now; nor did they put a lot of stock into her or Donna's biting retorts- especially Melissa Rourke, who'd only ramped up her snide remarks since Jackson had left.

Yeah, the sooner her time at Charming High is over, the better- especially since she has her eighteenth birthday, a summer internship alongside Donna, and the prospect of Jackson shirtless at the swimming hole (she smiles at that thought) to look forward to. There are summer classes, too, potentially, depending on whether or not CCC's willing to continue to consider her a non-traditional student for the first part of summer, but she's just ready to leave Charming High in the review mirror... and never look back.

"Miss Knowles?" Tara's snapped out of her thoughts by a voice breaking the silence of the classroom; _s__hit_, she'd been woolgathering instead of studying and since half the class is now staring at her, who knows how long Mr. Nestor, the guidance counselor, had been calling for her? "I'd like to see you in my office for a minute-" he directs his attention to Huber "-that is, if Mr. Huber's finished with his lecture for the day." Huber barely looks up from his gradebook to wave the counselor off, and as Tara gathers her books, Donna shoots her a glance that unmistakably means _What's up_? Tara shrugs and moves past her to join Nestor at the door.

The counselor's office is just down the hall, and Tara's sitting in the hard wooden chair before Mr. Nestor breaks the silence.

"I've been following your progress, Tara, both here at CHS and over at Charming Community." She looks at him, blankly.

"I... guess I didn't know you could do that." Nestor chuckles, a bit.

"Technically, the school's paying for your classes this semester with part of our Opportunity Grant from the state. So, yes, we do monitor our students in the program who choose to take college-level classes. There's always a chance that funding could be removed if things aren't going as they should, but you're doing beautifully." Briefly, he consults the file on his desk. "You're earning well above what I'd typically expect a student with such a full schedule should see- straight A's here at CHS, and although your GPA over at the college wasn't broken down, you've got a 3.9 GPA there. So, I'd say, barring any catastrophe, you should leave here with honors." He's smiling at her, then, and Tara finds herself grinning right back. She'd known, of course, what her grades were up to this point, but it feels good to hear someone acknowledge all her hard work, just the same.

"So, what's next?" Nestor chuckles, shaking his head fondly.

"That's part of the reason for your success, Tara- so many students would be ready to sit back, take a break... but not you- you're already asking what's coming next. You've worked harder than pretty much any student I've ever seen- and done so with far fewer resources at your disposal." He eyes her thoughtfully before continuing. "Am I correct in my assumption that your father is as yet unable to financially sustain college classes?" Tara nods, her cheeks reddening as she recalls the financial aid meeting her father had been invited to- one he'd neglected to attend; Nestor, however, doesn't seem to notice. "I've been speaking with the school liaison counselor for the non-traditional student program, and she seems fairly confident that- as long as you are not yet admitted on a full-time basis to Charming Community, the state will likely extend funding to cover summer classes, provided you follow through with the program requirements- namely an unpaid internship." Flooded with relief, Tara barely has time to smile gratefully before the counselor continues. "Have you put any thought into what internship you'd like to take?"

"I was told that since my focus is Pre-med that my options would be limited, but that's the only information I've gotten." Nestor leans back in his desk chair and tents his fingers under his chin.

"While it is true that they tend to do better with things like placing criminal justice students in police ride-alongs, and early childhood education students in summer school programs- they're more specific, and just lend themselves better to hands-on experience- you still have plenty of options. Of course, none of them allow for direct patient contact, but the purpose of the program is to allow you to get a feel for either what a medical environment feels like on a day-to-day basis, or to experience interactions with patients and their families- likely in a front desk type setting. Now..." Nestor extracts a sheet from underneath the file on his desk and reads from it. "Medical Reception, Robertson Clinic, Stockton." He pauses, raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for her response.

"Uh, transportation is an issue." Jesus Christ is it an issue... with Donna considering an internship of her own, Jackson likely spending his days at T-W, and her father largely refusing any help, she's going to have to hope for something within walking distance of either her house, T-W, or the college. Nestor merely nods before continuing.

"Well, that rules out Assistant Patient Concierge in both Stockton and Lodi, as well as Lab Runner over at the satellite clinic in Sutter Creek." Tara bites her lip.

"What about St. Thomas? Or the Women's Clinic near downtown?" Nestor consults the sheet again, but only shrugs, regretfully.

"Nothing at the Women's Clinic. There is a Lab Runner position at St. Thomas, but they've included a notice that only licensed drivers with a personal vehicle may apply. I assume that's an issue?" Glumly, Tara nods. "The only semi-relatable internships here in Charming are a cashier position up at Charming Drug-" Tara wrinkles her nose. "-and..." Nestor's face visibly brightens. "Oh, here's an opportunity for actual patient contact. Let me read the notes column; _A__pplicants must not be squeamish due to potential observation of procedures. Be prepared for potentially__ difficult patients._" Jesus, that's more than she'd hoped for; Tara crosses her fingers that Mr. Nestor's about to say the internship exists in Charming, but her hopes falter when he hesitates once again. "Well, it's not at St. Thomas..." Reluctantly, he peers up at her, as if to brace her for some inevitable, awful news.

"Where is it?"

"Charming Veterinary Clinic." He holds up a hand, "Now, before you say anything, the more I think about this, the more I think it's a possibility for you. It's close to the college- within several blocks, at least- so you could walk to and from classes if your transportation issues continue. From what I hear, you have plenty of experience in a hospital environment as a long-term visitor, so even though that's not bankable, the patient liaison positions wouldn't enter into any new territory for you. None of the other opportunities in Charming are going to offer you the ability to actually witness procedures- though I can't say for sure in what capacity that might be." Tara sighs, unsuccessfully trying to picture herself working with animals instead of people- Christ, she'd never even had a dog as a kid. She'd been told the list would be smaller for her than for a number of other focuses- something she understands, since it's not like they're going to let a seventeen-year-old so much as hand instruments to a doctor without some sort of certification. Still, she'd held out hope that some amazing pre-surgical opportunity would come along- hope she now realizes was illogical.

"Do you think it's the best option?" _Dammit._ Her voice is small, meek, and altogether not what she'd been striving this whole year- the last few, really- to get in check, especially when it came to anything school related. _Med students don't survive if they're __weak, Knowles._ "I mean, I want to make sure I make the best choice." Nestor studies her a moment, then nods, brusquely.

"I do. I mean, I'm not a physician myself, but the options are limited to begin with and with your transportation issues, you're really left with either the pharmacy downtown or the veterinary clinic. If it's a question of which one is more, uh, _medical_... I'd say it's a clear choice." Right. _Be decisive, Knowles; take charge of your own future._

"Alright, let's do it." Nestor gives her a mild smile.

"You sure? This is the job you'll commit a fair deal of time to- unpaid, I might add- over the summer, so if you're not convinced it's for you, you don't have to make a decision until..." he consults the form once again, "Friday."

"I'm sure." And as Nestor nods and records the information onto the form, Tara realizes that it's true; she'd never been one to play it safe- not with her heart and not with her career choices, whatever they had been thus far- and she's not about to settle for some desk job in a drugstore downtown that would probably consist mostly of selling teenagers condoms and adults antacids. Not when the potential to see actual surgical procedures is on the table.

"Oookay, I just have a couple more questions I ask nearly all my seniors. First, are you planning on attending college in the fall?" He looks at her expectantly.

"Uh, yes."

"Any plans for that, yet?"

"I'm staying at Charming Community for a couple years, trying to get my gen eds out of the way where its affordable, then transferring somewhere to finish my Bachelor's." Nestor nods and notates something on a form.

"Any idea where you'll transfer, or how you'll fund any of this?" Tara shrugs, a bit.

"I thought I had a while before I'd have to decide-" Nestor's already shaking his head.

"While that's true, you'll want to submit your financial aid information for fall as soon as possible- I'll put the form in your folder. In addition, many universities waive their application fees for students who show financial hardship. I'd recommend applying to some or all of the schools on your list as soon as your spring grades are finalized on your transcript so that they know what an opportunity they have to enroll a student like you." Tara flushes- Christ, she's never been good at taking compliments- but Nestor makes a frustrated noise and waves his hand. "Stop selling yourself short. I know you're motivated, that you want to be a doctor one day, but _they_ don't- and they won't unless you s_how_ them. Taking classes at CCC is a smart move for a kid in your shoes, but don't let the bigwigs at those four-year schools overlook you while you're there. See what they offer you, finish up your gen eds, and then you take every last scholarship they'll hand you- and I wouldn't be surprised if there are quite a few- and get yourself on over to Stanford or something." Nestor smiles to himself as he finishes his notes and is evidently pleased when he looks up and finds a matching one on Tara's face. "Any questions?"

"No, sir." Nestor stands, then, extending his hand, and Tara shakes it.

"Okay, well, you know what to do now- prepare for finals, get those applications in, and keep working, Tara. It'll happen for you, you just have to advocate for yourself. Oh, and there's one more thing-" he holds up a finger, then turns to reach for a small box on top of the file cabinet behind him. "Each student gets a sample graduation invitation. You're free to ask at the office if you want to order some to send to family and friends, but what you do with this one is up to you." He extends a heavily embossed square of linen paper towards her, and she shrugs. Who the hell is she going to give it to, anyway?

The bell's ringing as she exits the counselor's office, and almost immediately, Donna's at her side.

"What did Nestor want?" she asks curiously as she waves frantically to Opie, who's at the far end of the hall, working his way towards them. Tara bites back a smile- no way does she have time to relay to Donna every last thing the counselor had said in the past half hour, so the general idea will have to suffice.

"I had to set up my internship for the summer... and speaking of, shouldn't you be doing the same?" Donna shrugs, distractedly.

"I'm not doing an internship anymore- I talked to my dad and he said I might as well just find a summer job, see if I can hold onto it into the school year to help pay for things, you know?" Tara nods, a little disappointed, though she can't say why- it's not like she and Donna would have had their internships together or anything; actually, she's pretty sure her friend hasn't made any sort of career decisions yet, at all. But she'd imagined them commiserating over long hours for no pay, reassuring each other that it would all be worth it to have their summer classes paid for. Speaking of summer classes...

"Are you taking classes this summer?" Donna glances at her, apologetically, just before Opie crushes her into a hug.

"Hey Knowles. You need a ride to T-W today or is Jax meetin' you here?"

"He's coming here, we have a review session for our Rhetoric final instead of an actual class." Opie looks at her, skeptically, as if he's about to ask why that matters, but seems to think better of it as Donna stretches up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. Then, she turns back to Tara, biting her lip.

"I'm sorry, Tare, really. Dad just thinks I'd be better off saving money this summer, getting some experience in, you know?" Ope raises an eyebrow at them before gesturing down the hallway.

"After you, ladies." Donna starts walking but keeps talking as if Opie hadn't spoken.

"And I think he's right- at the most, I'd get in, what- two classes? Versus saving up money for my own car or something." Tara nods; it makes sense for Donna, who has the user of a car already, to find a job somewhere and work through the summer. She also doesn't need the free classes in exchange for the internship like Tara does- hell, even working all summer wouldn't make Tara the several hundred dollars these classes are worth, not to mention books, lab fees... She forces a small smile, one instantly returned by a relieved Donna.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I was just hoping we'd have the same schedule or something, especially with the guys prospecting..." Eagerly, Donna takes her hand.

"Oh, I'll _make_ that happen. If they're gonna be tied up half the summer, we have to make sure to take some time for ourselves, you know?" Opie just snorts and shakes his head. "What?" Donna huffs, affronted.

"Half the summer, my_ ass_. The way Piney's talkin', you'll be lucky if you see us at all much before next June." Drearily, Tara watches a second pillar of her summer plans crumble. She'd been hearing about the prospecting period practically ever since she'd returned to Charming- how Jackson and Opie can't wait, how all-consuming it is, how it's likely they'll be hazed worse than any prospects in the history of SAMCRO by virtue of their being the very first Legacies... but somehow, it hadn't truly hit her just how lonely her summer's going to be- hell, the next year, if what Ope says is correct- until now. _Freaking great._

The mood is still somewhat subdued as they eat under their usual tree- school lunch necessitated, today, by the slightly different schedule of the dead week before finals begin over at CCC- despite both Opie and Donna expressing their mixed excitement and amusement over Tara's internship decision.

"Jesus Christ, Knowles-" Opie's saying, tauntingly, between bites of the large candy bar he'd brought so he could eat with Donna before taking off for his afternoon at the garage. "If Jax is smart, he'll never piss ya off again what with you learnin' how to _neuter_ shit..." Tara rolls her eyes, but manages a smile in his general direction, anyway.

"Stop it, Ope-"

"It's fine, Donna. I'm just letting myself pout a little about what my summer's turning out to be, I guess." She shrugs, smiling ruefully, but Opie frowns anyway.

"You've known practically your whole life that Jax and I were gonna prospect as soon as school was out. Hell, it coulda happened a whole lot earlier if JT'd let him drop out, or if we'd've started over the winter like we wanted."

"I know that, I do. And I'm glad you're both graduating, Opie- I really think you'd have regretted it someday if you hadn't. I just... I don't know, it didn't seem real up until now, you know?" Donna catches her eye, gives her a sad look that says that it had gone all too quickly for her, too. Opie, however, changes the subject.

"Speakin' of graduation... do y'all really expect me to wear a goddamn _dress_ just so I can walk across a stage and get handed a piece of paper?" Donna giggles at the thought just as the sound of a motorcycle roars in the distance- Jackson's Dyna, she'd put money on it. It's funny, suddenly, just how attuned she is to him, down to the characteristic sound of his bike out of many others.

"Alright, guys," Tara says, standing and brushing grass from her legs, "Jackson's just about here. Will I see you at the clubhouse tonight?" Donna shrugs, darting a cautious glance over at Opie.

"Not sure, Ope's supposed to come over for dinner- Mom and Dad are trying to get to know him, again, since I've made it clear for the hundredth time that I'm not going to stop seeing him no matter what they say."

"What, Opie, you no longer _that sweet, shy boy_?" Tara teases, earning herself a middle finger and a snort from Opie.

"Naw, I'm now _that poor boy who's lost his way_; her mother prays for me now... or so she tells me." Donna just rolls her eyes.

"She does not... and she doesn't think you've lost your way; you're just that sweet, shy boy that's going to get caught up in the club she knows nothing about and get himself shot. Or, worse..." Donna pauses for dramatic effect, and flutters her hand near her chest- "_arrested_. What_ ever_will her friends think?"

"Okay, okay. So, if the dinner goes well, you'll...?"

"Probably take Donna out to celebrate afterwards. Maybe take advantage of her a little- _ow!_" Ope's rubbing his arm and Donna's smirking at him.

"And if it doesn't?" Tara shoulders her backpack and raises an eyebrow at Opie.

"Probably chase after Donna after she stomps out the front door and then take her somewhere to cool off... maybe take advantage of her a little." This time, Opie dodges Donna's fist only to fall victim to Tara's as she walks by him on her way across the lawn.

"Thanks, Tare."

"I got you. Pick me up tomorrow morning at T-W?" Tara smiles as Donna launches herself at Opie- already completely oblivious to her presence- and crosses the expanse of grass towards the horseshoe drive at the front of the school where Jackson's already waiting, the Dyna idling underneath him. She's about to cross the few handicapped parking spaces when the front doors open and some girl she recognizes as a junior member of the cheer squad- though she's not exactly sure of her name- bounds down the front steps. From her vantage point, Tara can see that Jackson's writing in one of his little notebooks; evidently, the girl notices, too, because she hurriedly yanks the deep vee of her top down just a little lower- showing the lacy edges of her bra- before strolling up to the Dyna to run a finger seductively down the near handlebar.

Tara can see Jax's head fly up at the sight of what she's sure is a manicured fingernail on his bike. _Christ,_ none of these girls ever seem to realize that laying hands on someone's bike is practically sacrilege; true to form, Jax blinks at the girl a moment before sending her an easy smile, but Tara can see as she nears them that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Seconds later, he notices her approaching and she can see all too well the moment he does; instantly, the smile widens, becomes that signature Teller grin with just a little bit more- the one she swears he reserves just for her. His eyes practically light up- she'd never thought much about the expression before she'd returned to Charming, but the current passing between them is almost palpable as his eyes crinkle at their corners and seem to shoot sparks her way.

Tara brushes past the girl to plant a kiss on his lips... on second thought, she angles her head to slip her tongue into his mouth, reaching to smooth her fingers over the back of his helmet and pull him into her until his near hand clutches at her hair and he's groaning into her mouth. When she finally draws back, nipping his lower lip on the way, his eyes are sparkling with surprise and amusement, and that damn smirk is playing at his lips.

"Shut up, Teller," she says, clipping on the helmet he hands her and sliding onto the bike to wrap her arms around him again. He doesn't say anything, just chuckles and pulls away from the curb, and they're blocks away before she realizes that the other girl had disappeared.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, that bullshit _review._.." Jackson groans for probably the tenth time since they'd returned to the clubhouse hours ago. They're pleasantly drunk- curled on the cracked leather couch, drinking beer and watching Chibs and Otto play pool; Otto's apparently in the doghouse with Luann again- according to the endless shit Chibs has been giving him- since he's usually over at the studio this time of the evening, running security while she wraps her shoot. Tara shudders, briefly, imagining herself in dire enough financial straits to get in front of the camera, and Jackson wraps his arms around her, resting his empty beer bottle on the floor. "You cold, Babe?" She shakes her head, not eager to admit what she'd been thinking just a moment ago. Still, he presses a kiss to her shoulder anyway before rubbing his hands briskly up and down her arms and she smiles, tilting her head back to raise an eyebrow at him, skeptically.

"So, you'd have done the review differently, then?" He stares at her, incredulous.

"Wouldn't _you_? I mean, the only thing the professor did the whole goddamn time was read sample questions, and then expect us to answer them." Tara hides a smile at just how insulted he sounds. "She didn't even take the time to tell us what the fuck answers she was looking for, in the end. If I wanted to know what some asshole thinks of _O Captain! My __Captain!,_ I'd have asked Tig. If I wanna know the right answers so I can study for this test, well..." He shrugs, clearly frustrated. "What, you don't think the whole thing was fuckin' stupid?"

"I agree, Baby, I really do. I just didn't know you... _cared_, so much." Tara shoots her sassiest grin at him, and the one he gives her in return is almost savage, his teeth sparkling as he rolls over her on the couch to press his hips to hers.

"Oh, I _care,_ Babe." He drops a kiss on her lips, breathing his next words onto them. "I _care_ that I wasted an entire afternoon listening to some goddamn students argue about symbolism when I could've spent it buried in you." He flexes his hips, letting her feel just how much he wants her, and as tempting as it is to throw her head back and let him continue raining kisses on her face, her neck, her chest, a clack of pool balls and a sharp curse from behind them has her putting a hand on his chest and angling her head towards Chibs and Otto.

"Let's go to the back, Jackson..." But then he's skimming a hand up her shirt to rest on her breast, trailing suckling kisses up her neck, behind her ear, only to whisper-

"They're not even payin' attention, Babe." But his whispered words had no sooner left his mouth- heating her skin and her blood- when a voice sounds from across the clubhouse.

"Son, you got an apartment here- do ya really need to be told when to use it?" _God..._ Tara's face floods with heat as Jackson rolls off her and sits them up, snaking an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. JT's eyes are crinkled, amused, but holy shit if she didn't feel like being swallowed up into a goddamn hole would be a blissful alternative at the moment. She knows it's stupid, knows that JT's well aware she's basically living in the aforementioned apartment with his son. Hell, Gemma's caught them in a more compromising position... but then Gemma's a woman and this is Jackson's _father_; this is the man she views as practically a second father, herself. She takes a brief moment to consider that, although Rick would have flown off the handle and JT's merely smirking at Jackson, this is just as embarrassing, somehow.

"Ain't like that couch ain't seen much worse from the girls 'round here, John," Otto remarks, sending the final ball on the table into the corner pocket, but what he's implied is just beginning to sink in when Tara feels Jackson tense, next to her, sees the flash of..._ something_, in JT"s eyes. Chibs is already cuffing Otto on the back of the head when JT takes a step forward.

"Tara's family, and she ain't no croweater." JT's eyes shift to Jackson, whose arm tightens around her. "You'd do well to remember that, Son." Again, he turns to Otto, his demeanor calm, even. "You're comparin' apples and oranges, Brother, you understand?" Otto nods, shifting his glance to Tara and sending her an apologetic wink, before responding.

"Sure thing, Pres." JT doesn't have a chance to acknowledge his reply before a breathy huff emanates from the opposite side of the clubhouse, and everyone in the room wheels around to see Luann, her arms crossed and her eyes furious.

"And where the hell were _you_, asshole?" Luann stalks across the clubhouse, her boots clacking against the wood floor until she stops, next to JT, and wipes her palms on what's probably the tightest pair of jeans Tara's ever seen.

"Oh, right. I forgot to tell ya; Luann called Gem, needed a ride over here, but Gem's got garden club this afternoon." JT raises amused eyebrows as if to say _She's your problem __now_. Otto snorts and flicks his hair over his shoulder before spreading his arms wide, ignoring JT in favor of responding to his wife's earlier question.

"Ya told me to stay the fuck away from you. That's what I_ did_, sweetheart, I stayed away. You know, here. In the clubhouse. Where I'm _wanted_." Luann huffs out another breath.

"That was _this morning_, you idiot. This is now, and _now._.. you were supposed to be at the studio helping load up all that new equipment. You know if the girls and I are alone in that part of town after dark, what could happen. We already _lost_ a goddamn camera-"

"_That_ was your prick of a cameraman tryin' to make a few bucks, and I already took care of him! Nobody's tryin' to just walk in and rob ya, I _told_ ya that-" Luann practically growls in frustration, throwing her hands up and turning to JT.

"Can't you send a couple of guys over in the evenings, John? Just to give us girls some peace of mind?" JT sighs and passes a hand over his face.

"Darlin', I told you earlier- it's _Otto's_ responsibility, not the club's. I know Gemma's your best friend and all, but you know how she feels about me bein' over at the studio." JT pauses- glancing between the exasperated Otto and the absolutely furious Luann- before continuing, resignedly. "Listen, I ain't gonna tell anyone they gotta go, but if my guys ain't got responsibilities around here, evenings, and Otto asks 'em to, they're welcome to help out." Chibs raises a hand, tentatively, his mouth curling into a grin, but the words don't even cross his lips before Otto's shaking his head.

"I don't need anyone takin' care of my old lady but me-"

"Then do it _yourself,_ asshole!" Luann barks, hiking up the Lycra tank top she's wearing to reveal a large, vertical crow tattoo, its wings spanning nearly the entire area between her waistband and the edge of the shirt from tip to tip. "Remember _this_? I may be your wife, but _this_... this says to you, to me, to e_veryone else_ on the goddamn planet, that I'm your old lady. You remember what that means, or not?" Otto's jaw ticks... and then he's a flurry of motion- dropping the pool cue, stalking across the short distance separating them to scoop Luann up and toss her over his shoulder. He doesn't even pause to acknowledge the rest of them except to call back over his other shoulder-

"Anyone needs me, I'll be at the studio." He lands a smack on her ass and then he's out the door as she starts giggling. Otto's bike is roaring away into the distance before anyone says anything, and it's Chibs that breaks the silence.

"Jeeesus Christ... an' they've always been like tha'?" JT snorts.

"Pretty much. If they're not fightin', they're fuckin'." He pauses, rubs the bridge of his nose for a moment before heading behind the bar. "I need a goddamn drink- anyone else?" JT's already begun pouring the whiskey when Jackson, who- like Tara- had watched pretty much the whole Otto & Luann show in silence, chuckles a bit and removes his hand from her waist, trailing his fingers along the small of her back; he lingers there long enough for her to get an idea of what he's thinking. He only confirms it when he leans in to brush a gentle kiss against her cheek.

"I'm sorry about earlier, I just got caught up in the moment, I guess." Tara just nods, silently- so had she. "But all that just now did get me thinkin'…" he trails off, now rubbing the small of her back in earnest, under her shirt.

"About?"

"'Bout what it's gonna be like to finally see a crow on your skin." Jackson lowers his voice to a whisper and leans close. "Right here Babe, where only _I_ can see it..." He brushes his lips against her ear and she shivers, involuntarily, but can't ignore the nagging doubt that's set up residence in the back of her mind. He trails a couple kisses across her cheekbone before dropping one on her lips... and it's at that moment he pulls back, suddenly unsure, tentatively lifting a hand to cup her jaw, his eyes troubled and searching hers for the source of her hesitation.

"Ar- aren't we supposed to wait until you're patched in?" Tara half-whispers, not eager for Chibs or JT to overhear. Jackson's smirk, though not as playful as usual, appears instantly as he raises an eyebrow.

"I won't tell if you don't..." She tries to return his smile... really, she does. But the sight of Luann yanking her top up to remind Otto of his responsibilities...vague, fleeting images of Maureen, Gemma, Precious,- hell- even Mary... The memory of the strange croweater that had gone to a tattoo shop the next town over and subsequently appeared at the clubhouse to declare her undying allegiance to SAMCRO and either Tig or Kozik- whichever would have her... All of those women, all of them with the same tattoo, the same commitment to a man, yes, but also a club- they're all swirling in her head, and it's hard to think, hard to formulate any response except for a weak, twitchy smile that she can't even seem to keep on her face. She wants to tease, wants to tell him that it'll either happen when he patches in, or when he can hold her down long enough to find someone to ink it into her skin... but all that comes out is-

"You won't even be here in Charming that long..." _Christ,_ why had she said that? Jackson seems to shrink back, seems to slowly, slowly, get further and further away from her until he's sitting, ramrod straight on the couch next to her. Something- betrayal? No, disbelief- flashes across his face as his jaw ticks, and he rests his elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists.

"You're right, I _won't__._.. because that's the _plan,_ isn't it, Tara?" She rests a hand on his thigh, but he doesn't seem to notice, doesn't look at her, just continues on in a flat voice. "I patch in, I leave here... for _you;_ follow you to wherever your dreams take you. Maybe I join a nearby charter, if there is one, maybe I go Nomad. But either way, you're in school, I'm a Son, and it's what we always wanted, right?" Tara just sits, numbly, because none of what he's said is untrue. Not a word. Suddenly, his head is jerking towards her, his eyes fierce. "Except it _ain't_. I'll be a Son, but I won't be SAMCRO, and I'll do that for you, Tara; I'd do _anything_to keep you safe and make you happy. Hell- I broke a guy's jaw because he got touchy-feely and made you uncomfortable... " He looks away briefly, before lowering his voice so it's almost a hiss. "I don't think you have any idea what I'd do for you, actually. But why is it that I feel like the only one?" _What the fuck?_

"I'm staying in Charming an extra two _years_ for you, Jackson, so how can you-"

"You said yourself that it was the best option anyway, remember? And I ain't even really talkin' about who's givin' up more, because that ain't never gonna be a fair contest. I'm talkin' about me changing my entire_life_ for you- takin' college classes, lookin' at careers and shit... and you can't even _pretend_ you want to be my old lady?"

"Jackson..." Tara breathes, taking his hands, "I want you. I _love_ you. I want to be with you,_ always_-" His hands go slack in hers, a bit.

"I love you too, but that's not what this is about. This-" he gestures around them- to JT and Chibs who are, thankfully, still laughing over at the bar and sipping whiskey, to the chapel, to the clubhouse at large. "It's part of what I am, Tara. You bein' my old lady means you accepting me for who I _am_." Tara squeezes her eyes closed, desperate for him to understand what she's about to say.

"I can be yours, Jackson, I _am_ yours. I _know _you'll be part of the club... but I don't know when I'll be ready to tattoo SAMCRO on me. Please try to under-"

"It ain't _about _SAMCRO, dammit! It's-"

"So, if it Isn't about SAMCRO," Tara's on her feet- really, she doesn't even know how she got there, but somehow, Jackson insisting that a club brand has nothing to do with the goddamn club has her going off-script, ignoring the carefully chosen words that had been in her mind mere seconds ago. "If it has nothing to do with the club, how 'bout I just slap a _Property of __Jax__ Teller_ tattoo on my ass."

"Don't-"

"_THAT OLD LADY ENOUGH FOR YOU!?_" Christ, she's shouting, JT and Chibs are staring, Jackson's saying something, but she's in no mood to continue this in the middle of the goddamn clubhouse like the Delaneys had minutes ago. She barely catches JT's stare morphing into a kind smile out of the corner of her eye before she's turning on a heel and rushing down the back hallway to the apartment and slamming the door behind her.

It's a matter of seconds before it's jerked open again and Jackson's filling the doorway briefly before closing it behind him with a modicum more dignity than she had moments before.

"Why can't you see that this isn't about the club owning you... or even_ me,_ owning you? Christ, Tara, I don't know what else to do to show you that I don't see you that way." Jackson's breathing hard, his fists clenched at his sides like he wishes he could hit something right now.

"Then why are you so hung up on this goddamn tattoo?"

"It's not the tattoo, really, and it ain't even about SAMCRO, like I said-"

"Well, that's what I was under the impression we were fighting about this whole time. Maybe I need to go ask your _father__;_ he saw the whole damn thing. Or maybe he's still busy trying to convince your future Brothers that I'm not a croweater." Jackson shakes his head, a disgusted sneer curling his lip.

"Jesus_ Christ_... the overreacting, the sarcasm- you sound like my mother." Exasperated, Tara brings her hands down on her thighs, causing a violent smack to echo through the apartment.

"I'm not your _mother_, that's just the thing." She glares at him, the tension practically crackling between them.

"And it's one of your best qualities! Another one being that you actually_ listen_, usually, when I talk. So why can't you do that now?" Tara sets her jaw, gestures at him almost violently, as if to say _So get on with it_. "On the surface, this is about a tattoo, one that represents SAMCRO to some people... but not to me. To me, all it means is that whatever I decide to do- go Nomad, transfer charters, get a fuckin' Master's Degree- I'll know that you understand that I'm still part of the club and it's part of me. I'll know that you accept me the way that I am... _all_of me. It's a commitment... to each other." Tara snorts.

"Yeah. _Each other._ So, where's _your_ commitment, Jackson? Why is it that the women that surround this club have to tattoo themselves to prove that they love their men, but the men don't even have to give up the odd blow job on a run?"

"Jesus Christ, Tara, now we're talking about _cheating_?" She shrugs. Might as well, they've been yelling at each other a solid ten minutes now, anyway. "You know I'd never do that to you. I also don't give a fuck what the others do, because for the hundredth time,_ this __ain't__ about the goddamn club_! I'm willing to change my_ life._.. for _you._ _That's_ my goddamn commitment. This isn't about you patchin' in or some shit, becoming part of the club... this is about you sticking with me- loving me- and accepting the club as part of my life so we don't wind up like Piney and Mary. "

Tara rakes her hands through her hair in pure frustration... then turns towards the dresser and begins savagely yanking drawers open, searching, desperately, for one of the tank tops she wears to bed. _Where the __fuck__are they?_ Jackson's silent throughout the whole process, which- irrationally- makes Tara even angrier; in fact, she's basically fuming by the time she actually finds the right top, and it's with a little extra angry flourish that she yanks off her tee and practically tears the buttons of her jean shorts open.

"Wh- what are you doing?" She doesn't bother to answer, just unclasps her bra and drops it at her feet, pulling the tank top on as she spins to face him again. He swallows, though it seems to have been a struggle, before shifting his weight uncomfortably, his hip twitching just enough to be noticeable.

"Are you actually... turned on, right now? _Really_?" Jax manages to look ashamed, but she knows he isn't, really; his sex drive has always been a bit of a joke, between them, but they're also both well aware that her own is nothing to scoff at. And, now that she's looking for it, she has to admit that the telltale ridge at the front of his jeans makes his current state of mind pretty damn obvious; she also has to admit that she's sorely tempted to push him back onto the bed and bury this argument underneath tangled tongues, twisted limbs, and enough heat and passion to make them both forget.

The only problem is... she's still angry. Angry at having been compared to practically every old lady in Charming at some point today, along with the croweaters. Angry that he seems to be dismissing the fact that she's willing to rearrange her life- her goals- for him. Angry that he's suggesting she needs to prove her love for him with a goddamn tattoo- one that won't even be a factor until over a year from now. Angry, too, that even pissed off, irrational, and tense, she still wants him as much as her next breath. So much so that he'll forgive her for saying what she's about to say-for provoking him instead of smoothing things over. _Right?_

"Is this _doing_ something for you, Baby? The angry words, the self-righteous rage-"

"Stop it, Tara." His voice is strained; she can tell he's trying to find something to do with his hands- currently, they're flexing near his pockets- and she advances on him, unsure if she's more pissed off or horny.

"I mean, you've compared me to two old ladies already- both Gemma and Mary- made me feel like a goddamn croweater, even. So why not one more? Why not _Luann_?" Her voice is quiet, somehow, despite the fact that she's practically spitting out the words, despite the undercurrent beneath them, the sexual tension that's threatening to eclipse the angry tension- or at least match it.

"Luann-"

"-is a porn star. Something I'll _never_ be," she breathes, inching closer. "And Otto, well, you can tell he loves her, but they can never quite make it all work, can they?" Jackson says nothing, just glares at her, but she watches his Adam's apple bob as he struggles, again, to swallow his response. "But that's who we're acting like, whether you want to admit it or not. Just slap a crow on me and we're there, right, Baby? Either fighting or _fucking,_ isn't that what-"

The rest of her words are caught in her thoat as Jackson closes the distance between them and slams his mouth down onto hers. She doesn't try to convince herself that it's all lust- knows he's shutting her up just as much as he's kissing her- but isn't that what she'd wanted, anyway? She lets it happen, lets him control the kiss so that her hands can slip around to his back- his lips hard on hers where they're usually soft, his fingers twisting in her hair almost painfully. And just where she'd thought her anger would dissipate- give way to want, desire- it does...mostly. But there's enough left there that when her hands finally leave his back to find their way between them, she actually rips his fly open, sending a metal button flying to clatter uselessly to the floor.

He takes control, then, jerking his jeans and boxers over his hips, and then somehow, she's on her back with him looming over her, clad in nothing but his t-shirt. She's reaching for him practically before he even manages to position himself between her thighs, and there are none of the usual whispers, the teasing, the soft touches... no, he's burying his head between her neck and the pillow, his hard length is bumping against her and all she wants is for the noise in her head to stop. One firm stroke is all it takes, and then he's knocking her hand away so he can blindly tear at her panties; his fingers sink into the delicate material like it's no more substantial than tissue paper, practically shredding them away from her body. They're barely out of his path before he's driving his hips forward to bury himself in her- the rush of breath that heats her neck as he groans into it her first sign that he wants this as much as she does,

He's still a moment, breathing hard into the crook of her neck, and suddenly, she needs his skin against hers, needs this all to feel real. Almost frantically, she claws at his shirt until he rises to jerk it over his head, refusing to meet her eyes as she removes the tank top she'd put on minutes ago. Then, he's dropping the full weight of his six-foot frame back onto her, practically knocking her breath away, but she welcomes his warmth, his_ re__alness_, especially when everything else about him is so cold.

Jackson sets his rhythm, his hips flexing against her in an almost punishing pace, the only sound in the room his hot puffs of breath in her ear and the soft whimpers she can't help but make as he grinds himself against her most sensitive spot. Over, and over, and over again, he rubs himself against her, covering her mouth with his when her whimpers turn into outright moans. Their lips and teeth clash together- a faint hint of blood tints the taste of him in her mouth- but he makes no move to soothe the sting, just delves his tongue into her mouth to find hers.

Their kisses grow wilder, rougher- the rhythm of his tongue matching the one he's setting inside her- and somehow it's exactly what she needs; the powerful friction between her legs, his hot, slick movements inside her, the soft stroking of his tongue all seeming to turn the screws, increasing the tension until she has to come or she's going to scream- hell, she'll probably scream anyway. She drags her mouth away, jerks her head sharply to the side as he circles his hips in just the right way, drawing a strangled cry from her lips...

And then he halts, tossing her a careless smirk that's very nearly a sneer as she feels the burning tension begin to ebb away. _No, no, no, no, no._.. Almost before she can think, she's clutching at his ass- digging her short nails in harder than she's ever dared, in an attempt to get him to move, to reclaim the peak she'd been building towards. He only shakes his head, his lip still curled, and reaches behind himself to carry one of her hands towards her lips, pressing it roughly against her mouth, effectively muting her.

"Wouldn't want you to sound like a _croweater_." And as the hot flood of anger rushes through her, he braces up on his elbows- one of his hands still pressing one of her own to her lips- and then on his knees, dragging his hands roughly down her thighs to push them towards her chest. He centers himself again, draws back, and fairly slams into her. His pace is brutal, the angle of him touching a place inside she hadn't known existed, and- almost instantly- she's back on the brink, groaning behind the hand she'd left over her mouth almost out of spite. Every thrust pushes her further and further towards the edge, his fingers tightening on the backs of her thighs a little more each time, until one hand suddenly leaves her only to reappear between her legs. His thumb- callused already from a few months' work at the garage- drags roughly over her yet-untouched nub in time with each stroke, again and again until she's finally, finally falling over the edge, tumbling in waves of scorching hot pleasure as he shudders and spills himself within her.

Spent, he releases her leg and collapses onto her but she welcomes it- welcomes the physical closeness, at least, since in every other way she's pretty sure she couldn't feel much further from him. His weight is like a balm, almost- she hopes, irrationally, that it's somehow beginning to mend the wounds they'd inflicted on each other, and she revels in it for a moment, not daring to press her lips to his skin like she wants to, unsure where they go from here. He hasn't said anything except that croweater crack a couple minutes ago; she, nothing since she'd made the comment that had started all this, the dig that had finally made him snap and swallow her vitriol instead of listening to it for one more second. The only thing that passes between them now, though- their only link besides that of their bodies, below- is the settling cadence of their heartbeats, oddly in sync when practically nothing else is.

Then, Jackson's withdrawing, severing their connection to roll off her and lie next to her on the bed- inches away, yet miles apart- both of them staring at the ceiling like it will provide all the answers, explain how a sly, whispered remark about a tattoo had led to... this. It's minutes before either of them speaks, and the one to break the silence is Jackson because Tara's finally realized there's nothing she can say.

"That got us nowhere," he says, flatly, rolling away from her and pulling the sheet up over his hip as he settles himself at the edge of the mattress.

No, she hadn't thought it would.

* * *

The ancient alarm clock barely has time to sound before Tara whacks it with a palm; she'd been staring at it- watching the numbers flip over and morph into the next- for well over an hour. Every angry word, every biting comment they'd made had come back to her- several times, actually. It had been hours before she'd fallen into an uneasy sleep last night, too. Meanwhile, Jackson hadn't moved from his position at the edge of the mattress- as far away from her as possible and facing in the opposite direction. However, he'd apparently slept well- is _still_ sleeping well from what she can see.

Tara raises on an elbow to study him a moment; his increasingly long blonde hair lies, tangled, on the pillow beneath him, his lips- so hard and almost punishing last night, soft and slackened in his sleep. Somehow, she can't muster up any of the previous night's anger, finds that none of it remains except the ache it's left in her chest. If only she could curl up in his arms, brush her lips against his, set about making it all right, somehow. Only... she's got no idea how to do the latter, and even if she did, it's a mere half-hour before Donna's due to arrive at the clubhouse to pick her up for school. Sighing, Tara slides out of bed- careful not to wake him- and pads towards the en-suite intent on figuratively drowning herself in a hot shower.

Jackson's still asleep nearly thirty minutes later when Tara's ready for school; she really should wake him up so he isn't late getting out to the garage, but- again- she has neither the time to have the inevitable conversation they need to have, nor the energy with which to have it. So, she's silent as she creeps across the apartment and shoulders her backpack, easing the door open and clicking it shut behind her.

Almost instantly, she's faced with Chibs, who's smiling, softly, concern in his dark eyes._ Christ, there's no time for this._

"Mornin' darlin'. Yeh alrigh'?" Tara nods, at once grateful he's asked, and dreading what he might ask next.

"I'm fine, Chibs, thanks for asking. Uh..." She pauses a moment, resting her hand on the back of her neck, awkwardly. "Could you wake Jackson up after I'm gone? I've got to get to school and I turned the alarm off; I don't want him to be late getting out to the garage." Chibs frowns for a moment, then understanding dawns- he'd evidently reasoned out why she hadn't woken Jackson up herself.

"Consider it done." He pauses, then, like he wants to say more, but evidently thinks better of it and just pulls her briefly into his side to press a kiss to her temple. Tara nods, sends him a small smile in thanks, then trudges down the hallway towards the uncharacteristically dreary day that awaits.

Donna eyes her curiously all the way to her dad's house- probably wondering why Tara's eyes are red-rimmed and a bit bloodshot, or maybe why she'd asked to stop at the house at all since they usually head right to the school from T-W. Tara volunteers nothing, just responds as pleasantly as she can to Donna's attempts at conversation; evidently, dinner with Ope and Donna's parents had gone as well as could be expected, and Tara tries to nod and smile in all the right places as her friend gives her the play-by-play. She's relieved, though, when they finally pull into the driveway- Christ, had her dad not made it home last night?- and all she has to say is-

"I'll be right back."

Inside, Tara drops her backpack on the kitchen table and makes a beeline for the bathroom, cringing when she sees her reflection in the mirror- the red eyes, the carelessly brushed hair... but a quick splash of water and a finger-comb is all she has time for or they're going to be late. Sighing, she heads back into the kitchen, pausing before the refrigerator to finger the sturdy square in her back pocket. This is what she'd come for, but all of a sudden it seems silly- futile, even. What makes her think he'd bother to read it, let alone show up? Torn, she runs her nail along the edge of the thick linen paper... then bites the bullet, drawing it out of her pocket entirely and hanging it dead center on the fridge, below an old drawing she'd done when she was maybe eight. Briefly, she studies the words-

_The Charming High Graduating Class of 1996_

_Proudly announces its Commencement Exercises_

_Please join us on:  
Sunday, June 2nd_

_Two-o'clock in the afternoon_

_Charming High School Gymnasium_

-before backing away slowly. She's not sure her father will even see it there, actually, or what his reaction will be. Hell, for all she knew, he'll show up drunk and ready to argue with all of SAMCRO, or sober and ready to argue with her. Maybe she'll wind up regretting giving him yet another opportunity to give her a hard time... or maybe she'd have regretted not giving him a chance to see his only daughter graduate. Either way, now it's up to him.

Sighing, resignedly, she turns away from the refrigerator to head out and face the day. The kitchen door catches on her way out, practically sending her stumbling onto the driveway- and that's when she notices something's different. Instead of Donna's Cavalier, it's Jackson's Dyna awaiting her, and he's standing next to it, nervously. God, he looks awful, for him- maybe he hadn't slept as well as she'd thought, because he's got bags under his eyes and his cheeks look hollow. Still- even exhausted, lost, and nervous, it's like there's some invisible thread knotting their hearts together, and she can feel it tugging at her even now.

"W- where's Donna?" is all she can think of to ask. Jackson hitches a shoulder, looking away before answering.

"Told her to go on to school, that I'd give you a ride... is uh... is that okay?" Her heart seizes at his uncertainty, and she has to physically stop herself from rushing into his arms instead of nodding, silently.

Then, it doesn't matter anyway as Jackson drops the helmet and stalks up the driveway, gently removing the backpack from her hand and letting it fall to the pavement before gathering her in his arms. His hands are stroking her hair, rubbing her neck, and he's whispering a constant stream of words against her cheek that it takes her a moment to begin to understand.

"I'm sorry, baby... I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Jackson- about the fight, about... after..."

"Shhhh..." Tara falls silent as he presses gentle kisses to her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips... so different than the ones they'd shared last night- she pushes the thought away to pull back ever so slightly and cradle his jaw in her hands.

"I love you..." She leaves the end open, hanging, and he's quick to fill it in, to her relief.

"And I love you."

"So now what?" He smiles, softly- maybe a little sadly, she thinks- before tightening his arms around her waist and dropping his forehead to hers.

"We stick to the plan- finals, graduation, prospecting, the transfer, if it needs to happen... And as for everything else- the crow, the club... let's get through prospecting and shit first, okay?"

"Okay."

And it's enough, for now. It has to be- they have nothing else to give, but _everything_ to lose.


	8. Ch 8

****I own nothing you recognize****

_"Alright, listen up, shitheads!"_

_The Winston's ancient hammer made a relatively satisfying bang as Jackson let it fall onto the weathered top of the makeshift Reaper table; he and Harry had spent a good twenty minutes dragging the odd-shaped hunk of plywood to the Knowles backyard from the vacant lot the next block over, and the rest of the morning rummaging through the Winston garage for the two cinder blocks that transformed it from trash to table. Somehow, they'd managed to cram the table, themselves, David Hale, Kyle Hobart, and the Baxter brothers from down the block into the playhouse around it._

_"We're not supposed to cuss, Jackson, Tara's mom _said_-"_

_"Shut up, Davey. It ain't the Sons if you gotta be all polite all the time." Jackson shot David a glare that he hoped was worthy of the President of SAMCRO- one he'd seen on his dad's face a time or two over at the clubhouse- and watched as the other boy's eyes darted nervously towards the small window cut out of the side of the playhouse. "She's in the house, anyhow, stop worryin'."_

_Despite everything he'd just said, however, Jackson's own gaze shifted out the very same window to where the woman in question was silhouetted against the dining room window; he liked Mrs. Knowles- liked the fact that she'd slip him an Oreo or two when he was at the house after school because she knew his own mother scoffed at anything that wasn't homemade, liked how she'd play along and ask them to please move their Harleys out of the driveway so Mr. Knowles could pull the car in instead of telling them to get their goddamn bikes out of the way like Gemma would. He especially liked that she hadn't rolled her eyes at the kuttes he and Harry had made from last year's school hoodies, just made sure they hadn't used her garden shears to hack off the sleeves- they'd used Gemma's- and waved them on towards her backyard._

_So, if Mrs. Knowles had said no cussing, he'd listen- especially since the stuff Tara had told them a few weeks ago about how she was sick; he just wasn't about to let Davey-boy think it had anything to do with his tattletale ass._

_"'Sides, me and Harry know way more about the Sons than you do, anyhow." Satisfied that the frown on David's face meant his brief moment of insubordination (a word he'd recently learned while listening in at the actual Chapel doors) is over, Jackson nodded around the table. "Any new business?" David, Kyle, and both Baxters shook their heads, but Harry raised his hand. "Alright, VP, go ahead."_

_"That sh-, uh, stuff we talked about before, about who can__ be in the club. We should probably figure it out." _Right. _Guiltily, Jackson's eyes shifted, again__\- this time out the open door of the playhouse; he could just barely see Tara's small frame in the corner of her yard, crouched over something he couldn't quite make out. He and Harry had argued, earlier, about whether Tara could be part of the club, with Jackson pointing out that there wasn't a whole lot of space in their newfound clubhouse now that they actually had a table; and besides, their dads' club didn't have any girls. Harry had argued that it was Tara's yard and Tara's playhouse, and she'd been riding with them ever since they knew how to ride bikes. And besides, Jackson probably just wanted her out of the actual club so he could have her play the part of his Old Lady, which was both unfair- since the rest of them didn't have an old lady- and gross, since probably he was gonna wait until the meeting was over and _kiiiiiissss_ her. That had been accompanied by a lot of slurping kissing noises on Harry's part, and Jackson had had to drop his end of the plywood and exchange a few shoves with him before they'd just settled on the whole thing being the subject of their first Club Vote._

_"Alright. We're votin' on whether or not we can have girls in the club-"_

_"Just say _Tara. _She's the only girl that hangs with us anyway," Kyle butt__ed in, rolling his eyes.  
_  
_"First- don't interrupt the President; and second- this is gonna be a club rule, so we gotta say _girls._ But yeah, right now, it's Tara," Jackson retorted. "Anyway, Harry says that since it's her yard and she's letting us use the playhouse, that we gotta let her in the club. I say, the real Sons don't let girls in, so we can't either. At least, not into the meetings- she can still ride with us whenever she wants." David scoffed, his nose wrinkling in derision.  
_  
_"Yeah, well, she can beat all of us anyway- on our bikes and probably with her fists- so I'd like to see you _try _to tell her she can't ride..."_  


_"Shut up Hale," Jackson snapped, just wanting to get this over with- at least partially so he can call a vote and eventually get to bang the makeshift gavel again. "Alright. We vote this now- if you say Aye, it means you want girls in the club. Nay means she- uh, they- can be old ladies, and ride with us-" he avoided the knowing look Harry had shot him the moment he'd said old lady "but they can't come to the meetings. First up...Harry?" Jackson waited, knowing what his friend's vote would be- he'd made that clear earlier._

_"Aye. It's _her_ clubhouse." Harry crossed his arms and glared at the others._

_"Kyle?"_

_"Nay. She's cool, she'll let us hang here either way and it's already crowded in here."_

_"Davey?" Jeez, it was clear enought what Harry's vote would be, but David... the kid followed Tara around like a lost puppy half the time, and spent the other half sucking up to her parents._

_"Aye." David offered nothing else, but the way his eyes flickered, guiltily, towards the house again was enough._

_"Baxter?"_

_"Nay," both boys chorused, together, which was just as well, since Jackson couldn't remember which first name belonged to which, anyway._

_"And I'm a Nay. Alright, then, it's decided- no girls in the Sons of Anarchy." Eagerly, Jackson picked up the makeshift gavel-hammer and banged it on the table again. Instantly, the other boys were on their feet- well, as much as they could be since everyone except Hale has to duck in the interior of the playhouse- and headed for the door. "Wait, guys, we're not-"_

_"Meeting's over, Pres, it's time to ride!" Kyle's voice was practically drowned out, in the end, by hoots and hollers from the Baxters and even David, and in the end only Harry remained in the clubhouse with Jackson, his eyes narrowed._

_"Guess you better tell Tara..." Harry's voice trailed off, following Jackson's eyes to where she was standing, watching the other three boys headed for her back door. "_You're _the President." And without another word, Harry ducked under the frame of the playhouse door and followed the others, himself. _Great.

_Sighing, Jackson, too, left the dark confines of the playhouse behind to step into the sun, leaving Piney's hammer resting on the pretend Reaper table, almost like that's where it had always belonged. Crap, it looked like she was waiting for him, even after the others had slammed their way through the door and through the house- he could hear them whooping in the quiet neighborhood, shouting for them to hurry up._

_"Hey, Tara." Jeez, he couldn't think of anything better than that?_

_"Hey, Jackson. How was the meeting?" Her clear green eyes gazed up at him and instantly, he was hit with a pang of guilt, even as he wondered if he'd ever noticed the color of anyone's eyes, before. All he could do was shrug._

_"It was okay, I guess." That was met with a smile, though Jackson couldn't help but notice that there was something off about it, too._

_"I uh... I heard you guys talking. About me." She looked away, the corner of her mouth twitching, before digging her toe into the dirt. "I just wanted you to know that you guys can still meet here, even if you don't want me to hang out with you. I can just-" He grabbed her hand, stopping her flow of words, at once unsure why he'd done it but happy it had prevented her from saying something he wasn't sure he wanted to hear._

_"We want you to hang out with us- _I _want you to hang out with us. It's just... the meetings. Dad doesn't let girls in his club." Even as he said it, it suddenly sounded stupid, like a lame-ass excuse... which, he supposed, it _was_. But they'd voted, and if there was anything he'd learned about the Sons of Anarchy during his frequent eavesdropping, it was that votes made law. Still, as she raised her eyes to his own again and he caught a clear glimpse of the hurt in them, Jackson was suddenly determined to make it go away. "You can still ride with us, Tara, and you can be my old lady, too." Nothing. She just stood there and looked at him, like she was searching for bullshit, looking for any clue he was messing with her or making fun. Finally, a shout from the front yard seemed to snap her into action and she folded her arms much like he'd seen his mother do a hundred times before, glaring at him._

_"And who says I _want_ to be your stupid old lady, huh, Jackson? All _they_ get to do is ride around on the back of someone else's bike and make pies." Huh? He raised an eyebrow at her, unsure when he'd ever seen someone's old lady bring a pie, anywhere. "I mean it, Jackson, that's no fun. If I can't be in your stupid club, I at least want to have a job, or something." Holy crap, it was like her eyes were flashing at him, she was so mad- how had he never noticed them before? They looked like... green diamonds or something._

_"Like what?" Yeah, that seemed safe. Tara didn't say anything for a moment, just looked aside and jutted her chin out, like she always did when she was thinking. After a moment, she tightened her arms around herself, and glared up at him again._

_"Well, since I'm gonna have to make all the money while you guys ride around town, I'll be a lawyer _and _a doctor. Then if someone needs to get out of jail or gets hurt, I can help," Tara demanded, setting her jaw in that way she always did when she was telling him how things were gonna be. What she didn't know, though, was that all she'd have had to do was wrinkle her eyebrows and show him those eyes again- show him how hurt she was- and he'd probably have been the one marching to the front yard and telling them all there'd be another vote. Thankfully, though, he wouldn't have to._

_"Fine, I'll tell the guys." Tara nodded at him, her eyes flitting to the back door, evidently eager to join everyone else. "Anything else?"_

_"Yeah. I get to say when you guys meet- It's _my_ house." Protests that he was the President died on his lips when she continued, her hands on her hips. "And if you want me to be your old lady, you got to kiss me._"

Holy...shit._ Jackson couldn't think of any other words to accurately describe the panic that was rushing through him at Tara's demand, and even if he could, he couldn't have spoken them. His mouth was dry, his throat seemed to be stuffed with cotton balls or something... and all that moisture seemed to be rerouted towards his palms, which were suddenly so sweaty he had to swipe them, stealthily, against the thighs of his jeans. Tara just continued to look at him, her eyebrow raised like she was expecting him to say- or do- something, and it took several moments for him to figure out how to proceed without swallowing his own stupid tongue so he could talk without sounding like an idiot._

_"You just said you didn't want to be an old lady." She rolled her eyes at him, and he guessed he'd missed something because _hadn't_ that been what she'd said?_

_"No, I said I wanted to be a lawyer and a doctor. _You_ said I could be an old lady. Who says I can't do both?" Jackson shrugged, defeated; she was the smartest kid in their class, after all- he wasn't about to stand here and argue about what she'd meant, or what she could do. Anyone who did that was liable to wind up the recipient of a slug on the shoulder- just ask Harry. Just then, a chorus of voices echoed for a third time through the trees from the front._

_"Jackson! Tara! Hurry up!" Jeez, they were getting impatient- any more hesitation and one of them would be back here and holy _shit_, if they ever saw what was about to happen, they'd never let him live it down._

_"Okay, let's do this, before-" And just like that, his voice was gone again, because Tara was taking a step towards him, and it was occurring to him for the first time ever just how... _pretty_ she was, and just how right Harry had been, earlier, though Jackson would never admit it. The bright sunshine, Mrs. Knowles somewhere in the house, the unmistakable sound of her father's Cutlass pulling into the driveway, their friends' shouts ringing out over the fence... all of it served to sort of push him a little bit more quickly towards her so he could bend a little and press his chapped lips to hers._

_One... two... three seconds should be enough- it was definitely enough for him to notice just how soft her lips were compared to his- but she drew back sharply before the thought could even register in his mind, sucking in a breath that inexplicably made him want to try it again._

_"I didn't- I mean, you didn't have to do it on the lips, Jackson!" Tara hissed at him, but she didn't look mad, just... surprised, maybe? He couldn't even formulate a response, just stared at her, unsure of what to do next. Then, she made the decision for him, darting forward, wide-eyed, to plant a brief kiss of her own on his lips before pushing him back a little and blurting out the exact words that were now in his mind. "Now we're even." She smiled, then, that sweet smile he was used to, before angling her head towards front yard- "Tell them and die, Teller." And then she was grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind her through her back door and towards their friends, his lips still tingling with the feel of her- and he couldn't help but think having an old lady wasn't that bad after all._

Even though today- Graduation day- isn't really one he'd been looking forward to, Jax wakes up smiling for the first time in over a week- something he's pretty sure is due to a combination of several factors; first, there'd been no alarm clock necessary this morning and the sun's already glowing on the wood paneling of the apartment in a way that tells him it's pretty damn near midday. Second, he's not thought about the first time he'd kissed Tara- or she him- in years, probably not since the hundred or so times in the days following its occurrence- and today he wakes up in the middle of a dream about it. It's a scenario he hadn't had the chance to repeat before she'd left for San Diego months later; he'd been too chickenshit and she'd immediately gone back to being like one of the guys whenever everyone else was around, even while playing his old lady. She'd gone back to normal without exception, to his immense relief, as she'd continued to apply her calm voice and her soothing touch to ease his restlessness many times over the following months- including when JT had returned from jail and then gone back in again a month later.

Which brings him to the third reason he'd woken up feeling relaxed and happy; she's curled into his chest, her soft breath warming an expanse of his skin, a long leg draped over his hip. Briefly, his mind flits back to the night before, when they'd returned to an empty clubhouse from one of Gemma's family dinners- the first with Trinity in attendance, and this one in celebration of his, Tara's, Donna's, and Opie's upcoming graduation from high school- very near drunk on wine and just a little stoned. They'd barely made it all the way to the apartment- though Jax had been apprehensive about so much as kissing her in the main room of the clubhouse- and had fallen onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Christ, he remembers seeing four o'clock click by at some point- maybe the second time he'd surfaced from between her thighs; or was it the second time he'd rolled off her, vowing they'd go to sleep soon? Doesn't matter, he thinks with a grin, since she'd been the one to break that vow and straddle him minutes later.

Jax sobers, a bit, as it occurs to him once again that last night had been the first time he'd dared to touch her since the night of their argument, and it had definitely taken every last drop of wine Gemma had reluctantly poured into their glasses for both of them to move past it. To tell the truth, he's still not sure what had gone so wrong, but looking back, her reaction the first time he'd brought up the crow tattoo hadn't been all that favorable either; it had been in Opie's kitchen the first time she'd expressed her hesitation to imprint a club brand on herself and allow the club to find its way into their relationship, and it had been way back before they'd ever had sex. Jax has kicked himself a couple times since the argument for seizing on her hesitation and allowing shit to spiral out of his control; he knows her better than he knows anyone, and continuing that argument right there in the clubhouse hadn't been one of his smarter moves.

If_ that_ hadn't been smart, throwing their plans- the ones Jax himself had suggested as well as the one he'd been more than relieved to hear Tara propose months ago- into her face had been downright stupid. She'd tried to apologize since- for yelling, for overreacting to the idea of the tattoo- but he'd shushed her and kissed her each time; partially because, with finals, the garage, and everything else looming, he'd just not wanted to devote what energy he had left to stressing over something that wouldn't even be a factor until over a year from now. If he's the future King of Charming, Tara's the once and future Queen of overthinking and overanalyzing every decision she makes, almost to the point of madness.

Jax sighs, the slight movement causing Tara to stir; she presses her lips to his chest- sending his cock twitching even though he's pretty sure she's still not awake. _Jesus Christ_, he doesn't know what he'd been more afraid would kill him- the week of tiptoeing around each other, chaste kisses, and soft, nervous touches coupled with an almost overwhelming desire to gather her into his arms, carry her back to the apartment and make it all right... or the virtual marathon of sex they'd just had to finally put it all behind them. He knows sex isn't a fix- something that had become painfully obvious that night- know it's something that will likely come back up again, inevitably when he finally patches in... but he's hoping, by then, to have shown Tara exactly what his SAMCRO family means to him. If only he could just grab her by the hand and tell her she can be his old lady like he had when they were nine... Well, he could, but he's pretty sure her answer would be a whole lot more complicated than demanding a kiss and threatening him into silence.

"I love you..." Tara whispers, drawing him out of his thoughts and into the present, where everything is once again set right. Jax angles his head to peer down at her and finds her eyes- a soft, clear green today that somehow reminds him of the trip his family had taken to Fern Canyon years ago- wide open and searching his.

"I love you too," is all he says before shifting so he can kiss her, cradling her face with a hand like he hadn't bothered to that night last week, and probably not last night either. He's trying to infuse everything he feels for her- love, tenderness, passion, heat- into the kiss until she's whispering again, breathing words onto his lips that he doesn't quite catch until his brain- almost half-gone already, somehow- finally catches up to his body.

"Make love to me, Jackson..." It isn't an angry plea for a fix, it isn't a demand filled with angst or an alcohol-fueled, lust-driven cease-fire; it's simply his girl- all wide eyes and soft smiles- telling him what she wants most, and after over a week of thinking too much about everyone and everything, it's the easiest decision he's come to, probably ever. He rolls over her, pressing his deliciously exhausted body to hers, reveling in the feel of her soft skin under his once again, and as he slides into her- burying his head into her neck to breathe in the sweet smell of her that somehow still hasn't dissipated even after hours of athletic sex the night before and hours of sleeping wrapped up in each other immediately afterwards- he knows he's home.

"This ain't gonna last long, Babe..." He whispers into her neck, sucking her soft skin into his mouth just a bit, knowing he can't mark her like he wants- not today, when she's got to wear a dress and stand there in front of practically the entire town. She doesn't respond right away, just skims her nails lightly down his back and pushes her hips forward so he can settle deeper into her. He doesn't know if he'll ever stop being amazed by the way she feels when he's filling her- almost as if she's filling him, somehow, from the inside out, how she touches every part of him when they're connected like this.

"I know, I just need to feel you tod- _oh..._" Whatever she was saying gets cut off by a breathy gasp, and he's pretty sure it mirrors what's on his mind- what's always on his mind- when things are right between them; she needs him, almost as much as he needs her. Right now, though, they both need to come, and he sets about making it happen, working his hips against hers in the way he's learned drives her crazy. The moment her soft pants pick up, turn into rhythmic whimpers that serve only to jumpstart the tingling at the base of his spine and let him know they're almost there, she threads her cool fingers into his hair to bring his mouth back to hers.

"I love you... Tara... So much... So... much..." is all he can manage to exhale between wet, plucking kisses before they're falling over the edge together and her whispered _I love you too_ floats along after them.

* * *

The band room is stuffy with the entirety of the senior class jammed inside of it; Jax can't help thinking that it's a little ironic that he hadn't set foot inside Charming High since he'd finished his last class right before Christmas break, and when he does- probably for the last time, ever- it's in the fuckin' band room, which he'd never bothered to enter even when he was a student here. Frankly, he doesn't give a shit about this place at all, nor most of the people in it. Well, that isn't exactly true... anyone that isn't Tara, Ope, or Donna could fall off the face of the earth and he probably wouldn't notice. So, he's only really here, today, because he knows how important it is to Tara.

If you asked her, she'd probably say she didn't give a shit about any of them either, and she wouldn't be lying. But walking across that stage, getting handed tangible proof that all her hard work so far had been worth it... that means something to his Tara, and he'll be damned if he makes today difficult for her just because he thinks the whole thing is lame.

"Jesus Christ, it's its only one thirty and all we gotta do still is put on our dresses and hats. This might be the biggest waste of time since I tried to teach Donna how to roll a joint, " Ope grumbles in Jax's direction, earning him a sharp elbow from Donna. She's sitting on his lap due to the cramped conditions, and as a result the elbow lands on his chest, momentarily knocking the wind out of him.

"Shit, sorry, Baby." Ope just shakes his head- Jax is pretty sure that's all he's able to manage at this point- and Donna leans in to kiss him in apology.

"Well, there's an idea that will keep us occupied," Tara murmurs in his ear from her own perch on his lap, her arms threading around his neck. Jax revels in her smooth skin sliding against his own, the creamy expanse of leg resting against his thighs; the mere sight of her in the graduation dress Gemma had taken her to pick out had nearly had him locking the apartment door and attempting to spend all day lost in her. He's pretty sure Gemma had given her free reign, because there's no way his mother had picked out this flowy, gauzy, almost modest dress- she'd have put Tara in something revealing, black and lacy. Instead, she's almost glowing in a color she'd informed him is referred to as champagne- which is apt, because her pale, slender shoulders peeking out from underneath her thick, chestnut hair and the narrow straps, her collarbone just above the boat neck (another term she'd given him) and her long legs beneath the filmy edges of the hem have him practically bubbling over with want. Christ, he really is an addict and probably beyond help; even Kozik hadn't described such a bone-deep need for a fix an hour after the last.

"Just make sure you keep it PG, Knowles, 'cause I don't think we got time for another X-rated performance," Jax responds, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck and tangling his fingers in her hair; if he's being honest, he doesn't know if he's got another X rated performance in him, today- his girl had drained him in more ways than one. He's chuckling and trying to come up with a way to tell her this without sounding like a total perv- though maybe it doesn't matter since his face is currently buried in her hair- when he hears a tinkling that sounds oddly like wind chimes from somewhere behind them.

Melissa Rourke and David Hale- the couple of his goddamn nightmares- are standing before them, each laden with a stack of caps and gowns. Melissa's are inadvertently brushing against some elaborate-looking instrument with a shitload of hanging tubes- evidently the source of the sound, earlier- and she's looking smug, as usual.

"If your last name begins with M through Z, line up over here with me." Melissa's eyes fall on him, briefly, and she sends him a sly smile before gesturing towards a large table in the corner where a line is already forming. Tara stiffens, and Jax doesn't hide his eye roll as Melissa sizes him up, causing her smile to falter, a bit. She recovers quickly, though, adding "Anyone A through L can follow Davey over to the stage." With a last, lingering look at Jax- but, surprisingly, no snide remark for Tara- Melissa spins as elegantly as she can manage with an armful of gowns and struts towards the table she'd mentioned earlier.

"Jesus, how can she walk on those things?" Donna giggles, from Opie's lap.

"What things?" Jax asks, confused.

"Good answer, Baby," Tara muses, still near his ear, "but I think Donna's talking about those unreasonably high platform shoes she's wearing." Donna doesn't have time to answer, because then someone's clearing his throat and everyone's attention turns to Hale, who's still standing there, awkwardly. What the fuck does this prick want, now? Jax hasn't forgotten all the truly cruel shit he had to say to Tara that afternoon in the parking lot, and although he doesn't want to hurt her, he's not all that ready to let Hale forget, either.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Tara." When no one says anything, Hale hurries to clarify. "Summa Cum Laude's quite the honor, especially since you took all those college classes, too." Tara nods before responding, quietly.

"Thank you, David. And you, too; Valedictorian's..." she trails off, chuckling a bit, "well, we all knew you'd get it." Hale just shrugs, the plastic over the gowns crinkling as he does.

"It should have been you as Salutatorian, everybody knows that; stupid-ass rules..." Jesus Christ, for the first time in his life, Jax is agreeing with a Hale. Tara hadn't taken enough credits at Charming High this semester to be considered for Valedictorian and it's fucking stupid- especially since she'd been practically working her fingers to the bone between here and CCC and had kept her grades up despite taking a heavier course load than most anyone else. Even though they agree, though, Jax can't get past the fact that Valedictorian and Salutatorian come with a small scholarship- one that Hale sure as hell doesn't need; Tara, however...

"David Boy-Scout Hale, complaining about rules?" Jax snorts. "Bet that'll go over well at cop school-"

"What's fair and what the rules are, are sometimes two separate things." Hale interrupts, his voice slow, even, his eyes trained on Tara. "And I'll always stand behind what's _fair._" Involuntarily, Jax's arms tighten around Tara's waist as Hale looks away, briefly, then back at Tara. "The shit I said to you last semester... that wasn't fair, Tara, and I'm sorry." Then, to all of them- "Congrats on the graduation," before he's turning and making his way towards the table Melissa had indicated, where a line is already forming. Christ, of course Hale would pick now to try to atone for all the shit he'd said. Tara's sitting, unmoving, on his lap, and he'll be damned if Hales' going to ruin today for her; he draws her in close and brushes a reassuring kiss on her cheek.

"Come on, Babe, let's get you graduated." Her soft laughter as she leans into his touch makes the sudden tightness in his chest ease just enough.

Twenty minutes later, Jax and Opie are leaning against the brick exterior of the building, sporting bright green gowns and smoking one last cigarette before the real fun begins. Ope's bitching like he has been since they'd found he and Donna in the band room, but the griping had reached a pinnacle when he'd actually had to put on his gown.

"They couldn't've made these fuckin' things a little bit longer?" Ope grouses, picking at a thread near his thigh. It's only about the fourth time he's said it, but this time Jax can't resist.

"Dunno if they make this shit in _Sasquatch_, Bro." He ducks Ope's halfhearted jab at his shoulder to take another drag of the cigarette. "I don't care what the fuck we got to wear, honestly. I'm just ready to be done with this place. Get on with prospecting, you know?" At this, Opie bobs his head.

"You said it, Brother. I'm only here for Donna... and Tara, too, I guess." Ope fixes him with a questioning look. "You get her anything for graduation?" Jax smiles, and Ope shoves him a little. "Besides _that_, you fuckin' pervert."

"Yeah, yeah... and, I did. I'm waitin' to give it to her until we're back at the clubhouse for the party, though. Thought about givin' it to her this morning, but we sorta ran out of time for me to say what I wanted, beforehand. Plus, the more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to upset her before we had to show up here and be around everyone else." Opie looks at him, strangely, and Jax sighs; he doesn't really feel like explaining why Tara's gift could upset her- not right now- so he moves on, hoping his friend will get the hint. "What about you?" Ope's just fixing his mouth to answer when some shouting from the direction of the main parking lot catches their attention and two women come boiling towards the edge of the lot, so dangerously close to one another that their foreheads are almost touching.

"Oh, shit, it's Gemma. Who's that with her?"

"_That_," Jax sighs, eying the pale, thin, blonde with her finger in his mother's face, "Is none other than Maureen." Opie curses again.

"I thought your dad told her to stay out of Charming?"

"He was supposed to, but even if he didn't, Mom did, the _last_ time she turned up where she wasn't supposed to. And now, I'm pretty sure Mom's gonna lose her shit." They watch as Gemma pushes Maureen around the corner and into the grass, away from the rest of the parking lot. "Christ, I better go break that shit up." He moves to push himself off the brick wall, but then Ope's grabbing his arm.

"Naw, man. Your mom's a big girl, she can handle herself. Besides, where she is, JT ain't far behind; let _him_ deal with it, we gotta get back inside in a minute anyway." Sighing, Jax watches as the two women argue in the distance, but besides the initial shouting, he can't make out what they're saying; from experience, he knows that a deadly-quiet, threatening Gemma is way scarier than-

"Y'd threaten me, over a favor, then, Gemma?" Oh, shit, Maureen's shouting- her shrill voice carrying across the expanse of grass, and Jax tenses.

"A _favor_? Please. John would've gladly taken Trinity back to Fresno, after the-"

"Nay. It's a Sunday evenin', girl's got school in the mornin'. An' y're trying t' tell me that John's goin' t' leave his only son's graduation party early to drive Trini all the way t' Fresno?"

"John and Keith made the arrangements. _You_ should've stayed out of it."

"I'm her feckin _Ma_! I'll _never_ be out of it when it comes t' her!" Maureen's shaking as she shouts this last bit with all her might; Gemma hesitates and Jax can almost see her mind working. Christ, hadn't she said something very similar about him once, to Tara? Then, she's bringing her nose within an inch of Maureen's, and Jax's fists clench again with the urge to stalk across the grass and break this shit up before it gets out of control.

"The _only_ goddamn thing I want you_ out of_, is Charming. Trinity's inside with the guys, so if you're takin' her, I suggest you walk your scrawny ass inside and get her because I'm done playin' nice."

"Trini will watch her brother graduate," Maureen demands, fiercely, "Though with y'r fam'ly's history, I'm shocked he lived long enough t' do it-"

The sound of the slap echoes across the open space, and it seems like all of them move at once- Gemma to draw back for another, Maureen to lunge at her, Jax to take off across the grass, and Opie to pull him back. Luckily for everyone, JT appears round the corner and inserts himself, bodily, between the two women.

"_Jesus Christ, knock it off_!" He grips Gemma's shoulders and walks her backwards, leaving Maureen to lean against the wall, and not for the first time, Jax can feel the intense dislike gnawing at his insides. Now, though, it's stronger- more real, somehow- and is a direct result of the woman showing up in Charming, on the day of his graduation, against Gemma's very explicit wishes... and for what? Likely, to cause a fuckin' problem. _Christ,_ can't the adults in his life even get their shit together for the graduation they'd basically forced him to have? He's about ready to head over there, make his presence known, ask them just what the fuck they're solving with this shit, when Opie swears under his breath.

"_Shit__. _C'mon, Bro, we got to get inside, shit starts in five minutes." Ope's pushing him along by a shoulder, and as much as he wants to stay and watch, yell all the things on his mind across the field to his parents and his half-sister's shrew of a mother... he's not missing this, even if it means his parents manage to miss it themselves because they're engaged in a shoving match in the fuckin' parking lot. Not when it means so much to Tara.

"Yeah, let's go fuckin' graduate."

* * *

The gym is packed- Tara can tell by the dull rumble of the crowd that's audible even from the darkened hallway outside it- and so is the dang hallway, really. The entirety of the senior class had been shuffled, and reshuffled, until they were paired up, alphabetically- those at the beginning of the alphabet with those at the end, ready to walk down the aisle to their seats in front of the stage. Really, Tara just wishes they could just skip the formalities- the procession, the speeches, all the bullshit- so she can get on with getting the first diploma of many, and on with her life. The niggling feeling she has that everything is about to change is something that needs to be pushed to the side, for now, and she smiles as she glimpses Jackson several people ahead of her, jostling Kyle Hobart.

He'd stepped out to smoke with Opie, earlier, and left Donna to try her hand at pinning Tara's cap into her hair- which had come with a brief rush of awareness that, today, she'd prepared for graduation in an MC clubhouse, instead of at home, with her mother. It had been Gemma, and not Grace, who'd taken her shopping for her graduation dress, too. Donna had asked what was wrong- and she'd told her- but then Jackson hadn't come back until nearly fifteen minutes later, with his cap in his hand and a strange look on his face. She'd wanted nothing more than to drag him away and ask him what was on his mind, tell him all about what was on hers, but Principal Mason had called the room to attention and the moment was lost.

Honestly, today's the first she's felt like they were themselves since their argument... and that awful, distant sex it had led into. Watching him, now, though, that dazzling smile practically lighting up the hallway, she's not even sure if she's ashamed she'd provoked him into falling into bed with her... and that right there, makes her feel more ashamed than anything. God, even the thought of awful, distant sex with Jackson Teller serves to make her flush, pushes her mind towards the tender, loving encounter they'd shared this morning. She's not sure if it's the erotic thoughts that are now on her mind, the crowded conditions in the hallway or Jackson himself, but Tara's immensely relieved when the opening strains of Pomp and Circumstance flood into the hall as the double doors open and it's time to step into the next part of her future.

The speeches seem endless; between Principal Morgan, the district superintendent, the Class President, and David Hale's Valedictorian speech- during which he seems incredibly uncomfortable- it occurs to Tara that, as tired as she is from the activities of the night before, she'd normally have been nodding off. Today, however, the nervous energy that fills her serves to keep her awake- hyper-alert, even- and she finds herself perusing the ranks of her fellow students, since the audience is behind her.

There's Melissa, who had somehow managed to get herself seated next to Jenny Hale- a cousin of David's who's apparently no more interested in the speech than Melissa herself- as the two of them are busy sharing giggles and furtive glances at the group of boys in front of them. Of course, Jackson is among them- Opie a few seats down- and both are slouched in their hard, folding chairs looking supremely bored. There's Donna, watching David warily- _God,_ she'd never really liked his ass, Tara thinks with a chuckle- and for a moment, she catches Tara's eye and sends her an indulgent eye roll as David thanks them all for helping him become the person he is today.

The crowd applauds politely- it had been a decent speech, probably better than Tara herself could hope to do given how much she had hated the public speaking portion of her Rhetoric class this year. Then, Principal Morgan clears his throat and says the words she's been waiting for. Finally, the real show is beginning... but now that it's here, she can't help but feel the same twinge she'd felt earlier- that unlike practically everyone else, she's got no real family here to watch it.

"The following students have met all the requirements for graduation from Charming High School this school year. Jessica Lynn Aberforth..." Jessica, a brunette Tara can't remember having seen before, carefully climbs the steps, shakes hands with Principal Morgan, receives her diploma, and exits on the opposite side of the stage. Such a short walk, such a casual gesture- a handshake and a piece of paper- to signify something Tara, at least, has been working towards for years. "Stacey Ann Zylstra... Daniel Craig Ackerman..."

And on Morgan goes until, finally- "Harry Opie Winston" is called, and Opie's large frame rises out of his seat to take the stage to hoots and hollers from the crowd. He even cracks a smile once he's handed the small leather book containing his diploma, and Tara can't help wondering where his head's at. Opie's always been a great listening ear, a solid, stoic presence she'd felt comfortable sharing almost anything with; when she'd returned to Charming, it was Opie that had been the sounding board for both she and Jackson, and he'd never hesitated to make them aware of his opinions on the matter. When it comes to his own thoughts, fears, hopes and dreams, however, Ope tends to keep things to himself until they finally boil over. Briefly, Tara sends forth a silent appeal to the tall boy with the warm hazel eyes that he'll allow Donna access to those hidden parts of him that not even herself or Jackson know; he's the most loyal friend Tara's ever had, and everyone deserves someone that knows and loves all of them.

A few names later, "Donna Marie Lerner, Cum Laude" echoes through the gym, and Donna follows where Opie had gone before her, stopping to shake Principal Morgan's hand before holding her head high and practically skipping across the stage to receive her diploma. Unlike she had with Opie, Tara knows exactly what's going through Donna's mind; she'd had the unwavering support of her parents, but instead of comfort, Donna feels suffocated. The diploma, to her, means freedom- a first step towards the independence she's craved since she'd been a good little Catholic girl in an ugly uniform. Tara smiles as she remembers Donna's wide-eyed acceptance of everything in Opie's world- from the men of SAMCRO to her first hit of a joint from Opie's stash- and knows that she'll be forever grateful that the fates had seen fit to merge their paths. Donna's her first genuine female friend and she knows that on some level- even though miles or motorcycle clubs may pass between them- she'll always love her for that, and for taking care of her best friend.

"Jackson Nathaniel Teller." Tara's heart seizes as her beautiful, blonde-haired boy stands and makes his way to the edge of the stage. He's a man, in every sense of the word- Tara knows all too well the powerful muscles that fill out his frame, knows he stands half a head above nearly everyone in the class except Opie- Christ, he's eighteen, legally an adult, and about to prospect for an MC that is feared and respected up and down the West Coast. Still, underneath the smirk and the swagger that he's donning even now as he crosses the stage, Tara can see the boy she's known all her life- the one she'd missed for seven years like she'd have missed her right hand had it been removed. He's the boy that stole a ring from his father's strongbox and told her to keep it with her so that she'd feel safe, the boy that had so willingly pulled a bully off her bike and threatened to break his arm if he ever bothered her again, the boy that had unfailingly been there to put an arm around her when her mom's illness became too much to deal with... her protector, her support since before she can remember.

And somehow, amazingly, he's become so much more; the boy she'd needed- even as she insisted she'd handle her own business- as a girl had grown into the man she craved... except she needs him more than ever. Their friendship had grown- deepened, somehow over the years they'd spent apart- into this incredible bond that would have scared the shit out of her if it had been anyone else; even so, her feelings for Jackson had been so intense they'd made her nervous at the time- unsure of herself and vulnerable for the first time, ever. But it had become quickly apparent that he needed her, too, that they each gave something to the other nobody else could- he's the protector, she's the healer, and together they're a force to be reckoned with.

As Jackson takes his diploma in hand and flashes the crowd that signature grin, his blue eyes search the sea of students at the front briefly before they alight on Tara. The grin softens for a millisecond and he sends her a wink before the SAMCRO faction somewhere behind her erupts in catcalls- as usual, Chibs' customary _Atta way, Jackie __Boy!_rising above the rest. It's an odd moment- the moment it's clear that he's putting up with this whole dog-and-pony-show just for her- to realize that, more than anything, she wants forever with him... but it happens just the same. She wants it more than she wants the diploma she's about to receive, more than she wants to leave Charming in her rearview, maybe even more than she wants to become a doctor; and it's fucking terrifying to think about what she could probably be persuaded to give up to keep him. She pushes out a slow breath, reminds herself that she won't have to, that they've managed to create the very real possibility that they can both have it all if they just stay strong and stick to the plan. Their love can- and _will_\- get them through anything.

As her classmates file across the stage, one by one, Tara takes a moment to roll her eyes at herself; of _course_, she, Tara Knowles, is lost in thought at her own graduation. More than anyone else she knows, she thinks about things- forwards and backwards, in circles... it's endless, and sometimes she wonders if she might be a touch crazy in her desire to plan, to _know._ It's a quality that makes her a good student, but it's not really something that's written in the Old Lady Handbook. Tara smiles for a second at the thought of Gemma diligently pecking away at the old typewriter in the apartment, composing a chapter of desirable traits in an old lady the way JT had listed his hopes and dreams for SAMCRO in his manuscript.

"Tara Grace Knowles, Summa Cum Laude, with Distinction" _Oh, shit._ Tara stands, quickly, hoping beyond hope it's the first time her name was called- the last thing she needs is to give them one last thing to laugh at before she's finally out of here. She catches Jackson's eye as she climbs the steps to the stage and he's practically beaming with pride and love when Principal Morgan places the honors stole and medal over her neck. The handshake barely registers before she's released to walk the length of the stage to receive her diploma, and it seems like several long minutes go by before she gets there. Whoever's handing the diplomas out places the small leather booklet into one hand, shakes the other, and whispers under his breath to smile at the crowd so her parents can take a photo. She's not sure if she smiles- though she is sure it won't matter because even if her dad had managed to show up she's pretty sure he's not out there taking photos for her scrapbook- but in that moment, time seems to stop.

She's _here_. She actually fucking did it, and there are actually people in the crowd who care, even if her mother isn't. Her eyes fall upon Jackson and Opie- giving a standing ovation even though Morgan had asked the audience to hold applause until the end; then she glimpses the mass of black leather in the back corner of the bleachers, all of whom are making just as big a racket for her as they had for Jackson and Opie- with Chibs' _Yeah, Doc!_ cutting through the din and bringing about a genuine smile. JT's got one arm around Gemma, the other around Trinity, and all of them are standing and cheering. Then, the man tells her to go ahead and continue down the stairs, and when she's released, when the moment is finally over, she has her diploma in hand and is headed back down the aisle to her seat... she sees him.

He's standing near the exit, wearing his boots and his work shirt- Christ, had he come straight from a run, or on his way to one- and he's not applauding; hell, his face is as unreadable as any Winston's had ever been... but he's_ here_. She sits in her seat- waits through the rest of the names, moves her tassel to the opposite side and tosses her hat with all the others- with the knowledge that this is an event even Rick Knowles hadn't seen fit to miss.

* * *

The receiving line's the worst part of the whole thing, as far as Tara's concerned. Shaking hands and getting congratulated by people she doesn't even know- parents of classmates that hadn't given her the time of day the entire three years she'd been in school with them- isn't high on her priority list, but even Jackson and Opie had dutifully followed the others out onto the front lawn of the school to put in their time. She'd expected Piney and the Tellers to make an appearance out front, but wasn't sure whether to be surprised to see Chibs, Kozik, and Bobby making their way through the crowd; the Sons, as a rule, bucked niceties forced upon them by others, while simultaneously holding so tightly to their own traditions they actually had a written set of bylaws, according to Jackson. Still, she'd accepted congratulations from Kozik and Bobby, and nearly been knocked over by Chibs, who'd taken a moment to murmur in her ear, as well.

"Glad you an' Jackie sett'led things, Doc. He loves ye." He'd given her nary a moment to respond before moving on to bestow the same upon Jackson, leaving her to hug both Gemma and JT at once. From somewhere behind them, Trinity crashes into her hip and joins them, and Tara can't help but think that- no matter what her relationship with her father is, moving forward, this is her second family and she couldn't be more thankful to have them.

"Proud of you, Doc," JT says, followed almost immediately by Gemma, who draws back a bit to study her and nod approvingly.

"Jackson's smart, and he's driven... to be a Son. I ain't kiddin' myself that he'd have applied himself towards usin' those same traits here at school if you hadn't been here with him." Tara shrugs and Gemma moves slightly so that JT and Trinity can go on past her, turning her head a bit to reveal what Tara thinks is a set of long scratches along the side of her neck. Jesus Christ, where the hell had those come from? The question no more than enters her mind, when Gemma's already looking at her, expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of response.

"He did all the work, Gemma."

"Oh, I know. But you kept him grounded, helped keep his head on straight, and I'm so grateful he has you." Gemma's smiling now, still nodding as she takes Tara's shoulders as if to brace her against what she's about to say. "He's gonna need you to be there for him these next couple years, you just remember that."

"I..." Tara's response- though she's got no earthly idea what the hell it is- dies on her lips when Gemma continues as if she hadn't spoken, changing the subject.

"Ran into your old man a few minutes ago; saw him in the gym, too, but can't say as I expected him to stick around. He said he wanted to talk to you a moment, so if you want, he's waitin' on ya under that big old tree- I guess crowds ain't his thing. Anyway, it's up to you, sweetheart; nobody'd fault you for wantin' to keep today happy, if you know what I mean." Gemma's kissing her cheek and moving on to fold Jackson into a hug before Tara can even begin to consider what she'd just said. She steps backwards out of the line, allowing her spot to be swallowed up by the group of cheerleaders that had been to her left, and scans the grounds for her father.

Tara spots him almost instantly, leaning against the very tree Gemma had mentioned, his hands in his pockets; he's looking her way, and she can see the moment his eyes alight on her because he straightens the slightest bit. It's in that moment she knows that her decision's made; she may not owe it to him to take time out of her graduation day to speak with him- especially with how they'd left things after their last conversation, when he'd basically told her he expected little of her other than to get pregnant and stay in Charming her whole life- but somehow, she knows she owes it to herself. Somewhat reluctantly, she places her fingers on Jackson's arm; when he turns his attention to her with a smile, she jerks her head towards her father, and his eyes wander for a moment before the realization crosses his face. Instantly, Jackson's eyes darken.

"Don't let him ruin your day, Tara- it ain't about him." The concern in his eyes and the slightest edge of anger in his voice warms her heart and she gives him a soft smile in return.

"It's fine, Jackson, really." And, although his facial expression tells her right away he's not so sure, Tara can only shrug before she turns and walks away.

"So, _that's_ done, then..." Her father says, a few minutes and a long stroll across the grass later, gesturing at her cap and gown.

"Yeah," is all Tara can think to respond, fingering the satin of the honors stole, nervously.

"Honors and everything- wish I could say you got that shit from me, but I barely graduated, " he says, a bit awkwardly. "The honors, all the smart kid shit... that was your mom. I didn't meet her until she was finished with college- I ever tell you that?" Tara shakes her head; no, she can't remember that he had, though her mom had probably mentioned it at one point. The corners of Rick's mouth turn up into a half-smile- probably the first she's seen since Christmas, and as a result of the same topic- Grace Knowles. "She was lookin' for nursing jobs, I was over at the college annex signing up for driving school... and that was that. I knew right away that I was outta my league, but I was too stubborn to give her up." He fixes his eyes on her, and for the first time, she notices just how bloodshot they are. "Now I think about it, that all sounds familiar... and it should to you, too."

"Dad-" He shakes his head and leans back on the tree.

"Let me finish, Tara. I promise it won't take long." Rick pauses, then, his eyes wandering behind her somewhere before resting on something. "That boy... he loves you- I know that now, as well as I know the way to the Salty Dog. And I ain't been around much, but I know you feel the same way about him- any fool can read that on your faces, as plain as day." Where the hell is he going with this? Tara's about to tell him just how much she doesn't need someone else to tell her how she feels about Jackson, when he continues, changing tacks.

"I owe a lot to JT, Piney, maybe even the Sons in general for watchin' out for you when I couldn't. It's my own damn fault you're closer to them than I could ever hope to be, and it's because I wasted a lotta years feelin' sorry for myself after your mom died. I just couldn't..." Rick looks away, swallowing with some difficulty. "I just couldn't..._be,_ without her- let alone take care of someone else. When your aunt died, I thought maybe the more I got used to bein' a dad again, the better things would be; then it was a week later, and then a month, and then a fuckin' year, and before I knew it, I'd wasted it waitin' around for the day that I knew, somehow, what to do with you, how to make things better. I know it's a shitty excuse, but it's the only one I got." He stops, then, studies his feet for a long moment before peering up at Tara, the only emotion she's ever seen him show besides anger and pure, raw, grief. Does he really expect her forgiveness? _Now?_ And for what? Absolution for nearly ten years of nothing but indifference? Seeming to sense her ire, Rick continues, perhaps assuming- correctly- that the amount of time Tara's willing to listen is growing short.

"My point, I guess, is this- you love the Teller boy, and he loves you. I don't doubt that his family's treated you well, or that the Sons have worked their way in, too, as much as I hate the thought of it. But all of that can be gone in an instant, Tara. The life he lives- the life his family lives- it's only a matter of time before he gets arrested, or worse. You let him continue to be your whole world, what do you think's gonna happen when that's all taken away?" Tara says nothing, unable to speak, unable to even begin to formulate a response before Rick answers his own question. "You wind up like _me_\- with nobody and nothing else to pull you out of the black hole you'll find yourself in. I don't want that for you, Tara, and I sure as hell don't want some other kid growin' up feelin' the way you felt."

"If I thought the Teller kid would listen, even for a moment, I'd tell him what I should have told myself all those years ago- to let your mom be with someone who deserved her." Her father's eyes are boring into her now, and Tara's at once sure he's convinced he and Jackson finally have something in common. "You can do it, Tara, get out of this town and make a life for yourself, find someone who ain't tied to a group of outlaws. Because as much as he loves you, that don't change the fact that if you stay here with him you're settin' yourself up for the same shit I've spent almost ten years sufferin' with." The silence that stretches between them seems interminable; Tara's mind is racing but her father's just standing there, wiping his shaking hands on his jeans, seemingly at random. Then, the realization that he's waiting for her to respond, finally, hits her and after that it's like the words just won't stop.

"Dad, you're right about one thing. I _do_ love Jackson- _so_ much- and he loves me. I guess you're also right that Gemma and JT, Piney, and the club have been there for me when you weren't, and I'll _never_ be able to make it up to them. Thing is, though... they don't _expect_ me to. As for the rest of it... I'm _going_ to college, Dad- yeah, I'm staying in Charming the first couple years, and yeah it's partially so Jackson and I can be together, but it also just makes financial sense. I wasn't left with a whole lot of options when it comes to that, you know?" She watches as a flash of guilt crosses his face but can't bring herself to feel badly for causing it. "After my two years are up, I'm taking whatever scholarships they'll give me and I'm getting the hell out of here to finish my bachelor's degree. Then, I'm going to medical school, and there's nothing you, or Jackson, or _anyone_ can say that's going to stop me." She swallows, then, remembering the realization she'd come to during the ceremony- that she wants Jackson more than anything- and pushes it away. Rick shakes his head as if to point out some flaw in the plan, but she's done listening.

"It's _happening,_ Dad, and he's coming with me. JT's turned the club around, and-"

"You can't really believe-"

"Believe what you want, but we have a plan. Both of us want more than what Charming has to offer, and we're both going to do what it takes to make sure it happens." Tara pauses, ignores the slight untruth that is her insinuation that Jackson wouldn't be perfectly happy to stay here, forever, and looks her father dead in the eye. "I know you don't know what SAMCRO's been up to- and neither do I really- but they're not what they were when I came back here. More importantly... we're not _you._ Even if something does happen, you have no reason to believe that I'd become what you have; you said so yourself earlier- I'm a lot like_ her__._" And she _is_ like her mother, Tara tells herself as she watches the conflicting emotions play across her father's face, and her mother wouldn't have lost herself in grief had the tables been turned. She doesn't know what she'd do if she lost Jackson- can't fathom life without him at this point- but she's got to believe that she wouldn't curl into a literal or figurative ball and just... cease to exist like Rick had. If she doesn't believe that, she'll be paralyzed with fear that it'll happen and that's no way to live life, either.

It's then that her father takes her hand, stepping forward slightly to enable himself to do so- possibly the first physical contact they've had in months. Tara can do nothing more than stand there, passively, and receive his touch- much as he'd received her presence in his life these past few years. However, she can't help the ache that sets itself up in her chest- both at what could have been, had her mom been alive, and what is- a daughter, unable to respond to the simplest touch by her father.

"I said before that I know I ain't done you right, little girl- and that includes the shit I had to say the last time we talked. There's a lot I'd change if I could, but I think you know me well enough to know that what I can do is pretty goddamn close to nothin'. So all we got is what's ahead of us." He shifts his weight, almost nervously, and Tara eyes him curiously even as he continues to grasp her hand between his. "I ain't gonna follow you around, beat you over the head with my opinion about Teller or any of that other shit... s'far as you're concerned, I know you don't think I've earned the right; and maybe you got a point, there. So, I'm playin' the only card I got left, the only thing I got to offer." Before Tara has a chance to respond, he's turning her hand over and pressing something into it, then closing her fingers around it. Keys.

"I got a guy at work wants to sell his truck. He's givin' me a fair price, and I ain't got another mouth to feed in the house, so..." Rick shrugs, and Tara opens her hand to find the familiar ignition and trunk keys with the GM logo carved into them._ Holy. Shit. __The Cutlass._ "That goddamn thing's got too many memories, anyway. Plus, the way I'm goin', it'll probably find its way into a traffic pole or some shit before the year is out and I don't know if I can handle watchin' her get towed away, you know?" He cracks a smile, then- Christ, was that supposed to be a joke?- but sobers immediately. "I figure, you got a way to get to classes, you won't need to rely on the Tellers quite so much... and maybe some independence, some time away from them will do ya good." Tara can neither bring herself to protest nor to point out that she's never been behind the wheel of a car in her life, and even as she's thinking of what the hell else to say- something that makes sense besides _thank __you_\- he's holding up two fingers.

"I only got two conditions, Tara. Well, three, though the first one is that you take good care of her, get her serviced regularly.- though your boyfriend bein' who he is, I don't see how that'll be a problem. But the others..." Rick clears his throat, shoves his hands back in his pockets. "I want you to promise me that you'll get the fuck out of here when you can- go to college, make somethin' of yourself. Your mom would be the first to tell you not to waste that brain, y'know?" Tara nods, unsure how this is different from the past ten minutes of shit he'd said to her.

"The second one's related to the first. I want you to promise me that you'll go down to San Diego- get outta NorCal for a while and get some distance- and tour the school your mom went to. It's a real good school and I'm sure you know some folks down there. Just... just give it a shot, okay? She'd be real proud to know you were followin' in her footsteps." And as much as Tara wants to tell him that she'll visit where she goddamn pleases, that there's no Sons charter anywhere near San Diego... as much as she wants to tell him she's figured everything out without him almost her whole life, ask him who the hell he thinks he is to be setting conditions now... she doesn't. What she does is pitch forward and hug him, even though once she's there, she barely knows what to do. It's only when it's over, when he's given her his best version of a smile and started towards the parking lot, that she realizes he'd never said he loved her; but for the first time, she wonders if he actually might, in some way, anyway.

* * *

"Anyone else wants a piece of cake, they better take one now, because when Happy leaves, so does the cake!" Gemma's shouting, even as the clubhouse clears out; it's late on a Sunday night and even Otto and Tig have made their way to the exit, citing an early shift Monday morning. After nobody responds, Gemma shrugs and hands the box to Happy, who looks positively gleeful as he heads towards the door, prompting Chibs and Kozik to rib him mercilessly.

"Jaysus, Happy, just how many meals you plannin' t' get outta tha' cake?"

Tara giggles- probably a lot harder than she would have if she wasn't on her fifth- or was it sixth- beer; watching Gemma walk into the clubhouse and direct a few croweaters to hang some graduation decorations over the bar had been amusing, even sober. Watching the look on her face change from one of ultimate, stern authority to one of pure, defeated, exasperation had been downright funny, and Tara, Jackson, Opie, and Donna hadn't known why until they'd caught a glimpse of the cake she'd asked the newest croweater to make. The girl had spent time working in a bakery before she'd landed in Charming, but evidently had been so eager to impress Gemma that she'd taken things very literally. As a result, the cake reads:

Congratulations, Jack's Son!

None of the rest of the graduates cared that the girl hadn't bothered to include any of their names, since it was much too fun to ask Gemma where Jack was, and what his son had done to deserve congrats. Actually, Tara's surprised she'd brought the cake up now, at all, since she'd spent most of the evening rolling her eyes at everyone's jokes about it. However, after everyone had eaten cake, the party had devolved to the typical SAMCRO party, and Tara had thrown herself into the festivities more than she usually did- the pure exhilaration of having a time- as short as it's going to end up being with summer classes looming around the corner- without the responsibilities of schoolwork is a lot more freeing than she'd anticipated. She's also pretty sure that Jackson's positively drunk- he and Opie had disappeared with Chibs and Kozik for a while and returned minutes ago, smelling like a distillery.

Tara chuckles as Jackson makes his way across the clubhouse towards her, drifting a bit to the side and righting his path as he reaches the pool table.

"Hey babbyy," he slurs, tossing an arm around her, though at this point, Tara's pretty sure he's using her for balance- a pretty shitty plan, since she's not all that steady, herself. He plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek and then points at his own, expecting one in return, which Tara grants immediately. "Oh,_ hey!_" he nearly shouts, suddenly, straightening as much as he's able. Everyone at the pool table but Opie- who looks supremely relaxed at the other end, since Donna's standing on a chair and massaging his shoulders- jumps at his sudden exclamation. "I just remembered! I gotta give you your graduation present." At this, Opie raises his head and shoots Jax a withering look.

"Give it up, Bro, Tara already got the best graduation present out of any of us. No _way_ you're gonna beat the Cutlass." Jackson just waves his hand.

"I ain't tryin to beat it. 'Sides, if I _was_, I'd just go ahead and give her the gift of my presence on this epic road trip to San Diego." He shoots her a sly grin, and suddenly, Tara's looking forward to the prospect of driving nearly eight hours to go tour a city she's already seen and a university she's pretty much ruled out.

"Of _course_you're going with me, Baby- we can go to the beach, the zoo-"

"You had me at _beach,_ Babe. You better get dressed after we get there though, in one of those little shacks, because if you put a bikini on when we're still at the hotel, we ain't never makin' it outta the room." He says this last bit as his hands skim down her sides to her hips to pull her flush with him, and Opie and Donna groan behind them. This time, Tara's the one to flash a middle finger over her shoulder, but she makes sure to give Jackson a thoroughly heated kiss- _God, he can kiss, even half-wasted_\- before she turns to roll her eyes at them.

"Yeah, this coming from the ones literally rubbing each other down on the pool table." Tara doesn't wait for their retorts before continuing. "Besides, I was hoping that the two of you could come with us. You'd get your own room of course-" Donna rolls her eyes, mirroring Tara's expression from a moment ago.

"_God,_ Knowles, if you thought sharing a room with you two sex maniacs was even a consideration-"

"-but I think the drive would be fun as hell. We'd have to go before summer classes start on the tenth, or on a weekend or something, though."

"I'm _so_ in! Ope? You in?" Opie- now practically bent in half underneath what are, apparently, magical fingers, his upper body sprawled out on the pool table- groans before snarking in a muffled voice-

"You better hope Jax's gift is driving lessons, then, _Miss I'm-Not-Sure-What-A-Stick-Shift-Is-For_..."

"One of you guys can drive, I don't care. But we're going." That settled, her mind returns to what Jackson had said before they'd veered off-track. "But that reminds me, Jackson... you _did_ say you had a gift for me, and I _might_ just have one for you, too. Should we, uh..." She glances around the now-empty clubhouse, jerks her head at the back hallway and smirks at him a bit. Catching her drift, Jackson yanks her hand up to his lips and bows a little, sending her into an instant flashback of her first day at Charming High, when he'd done nearly the exact same thing- _Your high school, __m'lady__._ God, how far they'd come... He appears as if he's about to tug her hand and lead her away, when he stops, weaving a bit on his feet at the sudden change of direction.

"Oh, hey, Ope..." Jackson fishes a key out of his pocket and tosses it onto the table near Opie's head. "Dad said you could go ahead and stay in one of the empty dorm rooms. If I were you, I'd take Kozzy's 'cause I think they're still sanitizing Tig's." He shrugs, sends Opie's still form a slightly dazed grin. "Anyway, though- Ma said they changed out the sheets." Opie doesn't respond, just emits another_Mmmmmmm__._ "A'ight, fine, Bro. I'mma take my girl to bed."

And for the second night in a row, they practically stagger down the hallway to the apartment, laughing and unable to keep their hands off each other- but this time, they do it as high school graduates. It takes Jackson several tries to fit the key into the lock- punctuated by several long moments of distraction as Tara finds herself unable to resist him.

Finally, after much effort on his part, and much giggling on hers, the door opens and they fall into the room, kissing and laughing. His lips are soft against hers, almost as intoxicating as the beer she'd had, and within moments she's close to losing herself in the combination. Then, he's pulling back, his expression suddenly serious.

"I told you I had somethin' for you, and I wanted to tell you before I give it to you that I know how hard you worked to finish school." He fumbles a bit to find her hands in the darkened room and draws them both to his lips. "I _also_ know bein' here hasn't always been easy on you, and you prob'ly wished sometimes you could just go home where there's peace and quiet and shit..." He stops, then, shakes his head vigorously before smiling sheepishly. "Christ, I didn't mean to have to say this shit all drunk, Babe, I'm sorry." Tara returns his smile and raises their joined hands to rest against her cheek.

"I'm not exactly sober myself, Jackson, It's okay." He nods, and continues- his eyes steady on hers for maybe the first time in an hour.

"I know you miss your mom, 'specially today when she'd have been so proud of you. Did you know I remember her?" She shakes her head- _where is he going with this?_ "'Cause I do- I remember how she always had snacks for us, how she played along with the random shit we pulled when we were at your house... but most of all I remember how she was always tellin' you how she felt; how she loved you, how she was proud of you, all that." Suddenly, Tara's chest is tight, and a tear slips, unbidden, down her cheek; Jackson curses, softly, and brushes it away with his thumb. "Didn't mean to make you cry, Babe." He sighs, the strain trying to say the right thing is putting on him plainly written on his face.

"See? I'm fuckin' this all up. Here, before I make things worse." He digs in his pocket a moment, and produces a delicate, silver locket that glints a bit in the moonlight streaming through the apartment window- "So you can always carry her with you." Jackson turns her palm over- much like her father had hours earlier- and drops the locket into it; with shaking hands she pries it open to see a tiny photo of her mother, healthy and radiant in a photo Tara had never seen before. _W__here had this come from?_ She lifts questioning eyes to his and he hitches a shoulder, curls his lips in a small smile."Gemma found it in a bunch of old photos from the first time Tommy was in the hospital. She's got the duplicate for you if you want it." How could he know what had been running through her mind all day- let alone have anticipated it, probably days ago? _Christ,_she's tearing up again and the last thing she wants is for him to feel like it's something he'd done wrong, so she quickly flings her arms around his neck to whisper into his ear-

"You didn't fuck anything up; it's perfect, Baby..." And somehow, in the midst of the kisses she presses to his cheeks, his jawline, his mouth, he manages to extract the locket from her hand and fasten it around her neck. When they fall onto the bed, not even bothering to strip, the room is spinning a bit and the only thing that grounds her is resting her cheek on his chest; his heartbeat- steady despite the genetic condition she knows could still be lurking, somewhere- lulls her into contentment and she's almost asleep when the thought hits her.

"Jackson?"

"Hmm?"

"I forgot to give you your gift. But mine was so perfect, I almost don't want to." He huffs out a laugh, despite the fact that what he says next is tinted with sleep.

"Just tell me..."

"Um..." Tara sighs, both because his gift to her really had been exactly what she'd needed, and because she'd had to stop by her house to lift a few crumpled bills from Rick's jeans pockets to buy his... "It's a box of notebook refills, except these have your initials and a reaper on the cover. Oh, and a little box of those tiny-ass pencils you always write with- those have the initials, too." She waits- though, for what, she's not sure; probably an _Uh, thanks Babe_, or an amused _Wowww_, like the one he'd emitted when he'd laid eyes on his cake earlier. Then-

"_God,_ I love you." And by the time he's done kissing her, they're both sliding over the edge of sleep.

* * *

It's still dark when Jax awakens... or is it because something's just landed on his face? Confused, he claws at what he now realizes is a heavy piece of leather and manages to yank it off his face- it _is_ still dark, what the hell time is it?- just as someone grabs his arm and pulls him out of bed. He catches a brief glimpse of Tara- still in her dress from yesterday and sprawled on the bed, asleep somehow- before he's shoved into the hallway. Blearily, he tries to clear both the sleepy fog and the impending wicked hangover from his head so he can lay out whoever the fuck just dared to put hands on him... and then notices that Ope's across the hall, slumped against the wall in much the same position.

"The _fuck_-" Jax doesn't have time to say more before Chibs is standing over him, holding up the same piece of leather as before. Except this time, despite the pounding headache and the fact that he might still be a little drunk, Jax truly looks at it- it's a kutte. Specifically, a prospect kutte, with its signature bottom rocker and that blank expanse of nothing but black. _Holy. Shit._

"It's time, Jackie Boy."


	9. Ch 9

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jax awakens to a dull pounding that, thankfully, stops by the time his eyes are fully open. Jesus Christ, it's barely light out, from the looks of the sun filtering through the curtains; maybe one of the guys locked themselves out of their dorm room again. Then, it comes again- the pounding noise now accompanied by a voice that sets him groaning.

"Jackson! Tara! Get up and get your asses out here!"

"The hell's your mother doing here this early?" Tara mumbles, half into his chest. As he does every morning he wakes up with her, Jax pulls her closer, shifts to cup her jaw in his hand so he can drop his mouth over hers. Even though she's barely awake, Tara responds, parting her lips so that his tongue can find its way inside; the little sigh of pleasure she always has for him gets lost in his own and he's just dragging her on top of him when Gemma pounds on the door again.

"Jackson! If you don't get Tara out here in ten minutes, I'm lettin' your father unlock this door, and I doubt you want any of the guys catchin' a glimpse of the birthday_ girl_ in her birthday _suit_."

Tara freezes, Jax's lower lip caught between her teeth, and he can't help laughing at just how adorable she looks with that deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Relax, Babe, he ain't gonna open the door. Besides-" he rolls them so that she's pinned underneath him, soft in all the right places, her sleep-mussed hair and her lips- soft, pink, and just barely parted- doing things to his body that should be illegal with his mother right outside his door, "-you can hide... right _here._" He bestows a teasing nip on her upper lip and struggles to keep from falling under the waves of sheer desire that threaten to overtake him every time they're alone.

"We better get up, Baby, or she really will be busting in here and I'm not anxious for Tig or Bobby to see me like this-"

"I thought I told you, you can hide under_neath_ me," Jax responds, grinning. In an instant, Tara's wearing a grin to match his own, one that has him wondering exactly what she's up to... until she reaches behind him and whips the sheet off of them- exposing his bare ass to the door, which is now shaking as Gemma pounds on it. "You tryin' to scar Gemma for life?" She merely rolls her eyes at him and pushes against his chest, setting him laughing and dropping a quick kiss on her lips before he angles his head and calls in the general direction of the door- "Alright, Ma, we're up! We'll be out in ten!"

"You had ten minutes five minutes ago, Jackson! Move it!" His mother's voice dampens as she backs away from the door; once her footsteps fade down the hallway, he turns his attention back to Tara, whose eyes are closed again- looking no more ready to get out of bed than she had earlier.

"Guess you'll have to get your birthday presents later, Babe." Jax kisses her eyelids, watches as they flutter open, and all he wants- more than anything in the world, probably- is to pull the covers back over them and spend the day shutting out the rest of the world. But, they've got things to do, promises to keep, and he knows that letting go of her now just means that they'll get to the good part of the day even faster. "For now, though... we gotta go see what my mom wants before she loses her shit." Tara groans and pushes him off her to roll out of bed- and at that moment, he knows she wanted the exact same thing he did; still, he can't help smiling as she crosses the room to don a pair of cloth shorts and one of his SAMCRO t-shirts. "You wearin' that out there?" She shoots him a withering look.

"Gemma wants to wake me up at-" her eyes flit, briefly, to the clock "-seven o'clock on a Friday- on my _birthday_, no less- and give me five minutes to get dressed? Then yeah, this is what she's getting." Smirking, Jax rolls out of bed himself to cross the room and drop a kiss on her cheek before he heads into the en suite; if there's one thing he loves about her, it's that she refuses to put on pretenses for anyone, including his mother. If she was suddenly rushing to put on makeup and tight clothing, she just wouldn't be his Tara- reserved, yet forthright and fierce when she needs to be, smarter and more hard working than anyone he's ever met- and the only one outside of JT himself that doesn't let Gemma walk all over her.

They make their way into the clubhouse minutes later to find all of SAMCRO plus Donna, Gemma, and LuAnn milling around a table filled with chafing dishes and serving platters; eggs, bacon, breakfast potatoes, pancakes, french toast, fresh fruit... if it could ostensibly be classified as a breakfast food, it's probably on the table. At the sight of them, most of the club erupt into birthday greetings and the flush that creeps up Tara's face is all too familiar to Jax; he throws an arm over her shoulder just as JT raises his glass of orange juice and puts his own arm around Gemma's waist.

"Just a couple things I wanna say before we eat. First, of course- Happy Birthday, Doc; eighteen's a big deal, so you make sure the _prospect_ here treats you right." All eyes turn to Jax, and he just gives them a smirk in return. Not even a question, Dad...

"That ain't a joke, prospect," Piney barks, glaring in his general direction, prompting JT to shake his head and continue.

"Second, Gem and I- and Trinity, too- we're so glad to have ya in the family. Ain't nobody I'd rather have with my son, and that's a fact." Jax nods in agreement and can't help drawing Tara into his side as she releases a shaky sigh, but knows without looking that she's smiling, shyly, at his parents. "That said, this ain't about us- even though we all get to benefit from this truly excellent breakfast my old lady fixed us-" Gemma waves him off even as JT lays a gentle kiss on her cheek. "So let's get to the gifts, huh?" JT drops his arm from Gemma's waist, but his eyes are sparkling as he reaches into the interior pocket of his kutte and draws out a piece of paper. "I suppose you could say this one's from your old man." He holds it out to Tara, and Jax slides his hand down to the small of her back to let his fingers prod her, gently, forward.

_State of California: __Certificate of Title_, he reads as Tara trails her fingers over the raised seal at the bottom corner.

"Showed up in the mail the other day- guess Rick wasn't sure where to send it. But he signed it- you just gotta take it over to the DMV and sign it yourself. Then... the Cutlass is all yours, officially." Whoops and hollers seem to fill the room as every Son in the place, even TIg- hell, _especially_ Tig, who's seemingly unable to keep his hands to himself where the Cutlass is concerned and had asked Tara all manner of questions the first night they'd brought it to T-W. Apparently, the guy's got a soft spot for two things and two things only- his twin daughters, and a nice ride.

"Alright, alright-" Gemma's stepping forward, quieting the crowd and directing a genuine smile at Tara. "Title's no good if you can't drive the damn thing, so you let me know when you got time, and I'll take ya out, show ya how it's done, alright, sweetheart?" Jesus Christ, he's not sure if the thought of his mother teaching Tara to drive makes him want to laugh, or lead her out of the clubhouse and never return. From the faint smile on Tara's face, she's probably thinking the same. "Meanwhile..." Gemma extends her hand, a key ring dangling from a manicured finger; Jax catches a glimpse of the silver disc with a black crow engraved on its surface- of course anything coming from his mother would have to feature a crow- and a few keys before Gemma drops them into Tara's hand. "Got your spare key on there, plus a key to the house and one to the apartment." She cocks an eyebrow at Tara, "Dunno why John didn't make you copies, earlier, but I figured you'd need some place to get away from all this prospecting craziness."

He doesn't have to prod her this time- Tara fairly launches herself into Gemma's arms, and Jax is again reminded that if anyone understands what Tara's getting into, here, it's his mother. Although, some small part of the back of his mind nags at him, even Gemma's not ever had to deal with dating a prospect. Still, he's undeniably glad that his mother's always seemed to have a soft spot for Tara, because if it weren't for that and Tara's sheer unwillingness to let Gemma steamroll her, he's pretty sure this whole quasi mother-daughter relationship they have going on would look a lot more like Evil Stepmother-Cinderella. At least, if Gemma's interactions with pretty much every other woman he's ever known are an indicator.

Then, the Sons descend on the breakfast table and JT's extracting Tara from Gemma's arms to give her a hug himself.

"Happy birthday, Darlin'. Sorry it's so early- most of us got to get goin' to that bike show up in Rogue River." He releases her, glancing, quickly, between Tara and Jax. "You two got plans today?" Tara shrugs, offhandedly, as Gemma hurries over to the table to run the buffet line.

"Sort of? Jackson has to work and I have my intake interview so I can start my internship on Monday." JT bobs his head, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

"Ah, that's right- the vet thing, yeah?" At her affirmation, JT chuckles. "Well, the animals of Charming couldn't be in better hands." He shifts his gaze to Jax, the smile quickly morphing into a smirk. "The only member that'll be here over the weekend is Piney and I already told him to make sure you and Ope don't take off early-" Jesus Christ, he'd been at the garage until well after dark every night this week- what more does JT want out of him? Hell, it isn't even just the garage- both Chibs and JT had had him running off on some mission or other ever since he'd put on the prospect kutte a few weeks ago; Tara had been asleep by the time he'd gotten in at least three nights last week, already twice this week, and he's feeling the effects of his time spent away from her, viscerally. "Jesus, Son, relax. I told Piney you're to stay at the garage until it's closed up and locked down, but I _also_ told him that if you didn't get the fuck outta here when your shift is over and take your girl somewhere nice, you'd be on latrine duty- _alone_\- for the next month." JT's eyes are gleaming, an insolent smile slowly building as Jax scoffs.

"Jesus, Dad, you don't have to threaten me-"

"_Piney_ seemed to think I did." JT tilts his glass and Jax rolls his eyes, glancing at the man in question- who's currently at the bar, quietly tipping a bottle of Patron into his own orange juice.

"Piney seems to think he needs to protect me," muses Tara from next to him, sending JT a soft smile. "And I probably- definitely- needed it back when I was a kid; even when I was in high school and waiting for my dad to be something he wasn't. But now?" Her eyes crinkle a in that way they do right before her smile reaches them, and she lays a reassuring hand on JT's arm. "I'm eighteen. _We're_ eighteen, and you guys need to trust us to make the right decisions." Jax watches as his father's expression changes, sobers, and he runs his palm down his beard in a move that's almost as familiar to Jax as the Teller smirk. It's a moment before he says anything, just seems to be trying to read whatever's behind Tara's clear, green eyes.

"I know that, Darlin'- I really do. Two a' you got some big shit comin' up- prospecting, internships, patchin' in, finishing school, maybe movin' on somewhere else..." JT's eyes flit over to Gemma, as if he's nervous she's heard him. "And I trust ya both to make the right decisions when it comes to all of that." He lets his eyes rest meaningfully on Jax, as if to remind him of the promises he'd made, and Jax feels Tara release a slow breath. Then, the moment's behind them as JT nods towards Piney once again, with a wry grin. "Piney, though... I don't think he'll ever let go of that shit- that need to protect ya- especially now that the boys are prospects."

"Got that right," Jax grumbles. "My own fuckin' sponsor ain't even up my ass _this_ much. Plus, he's been on my ass about _you_ since the day he found out you were back in town." This is directed at Tara, who grins up at him, prompting him to continue. "It ain't like I need remindin' to treat my girl right, anyway." And he _doesn't_\- he's been planning tonight for over a week, which is practically forever as far as he's concerned; Christ, he'd do just about anything for her, as evidenced by his plans to actually transfer out of SAMCRO after he patches- plans that only himself, Tara and JT even know about at the moment.

"Tara! Jackson! Come grab a plate!" Gemma calls from behind the table; JT chuckles and nods towards her.

"Go on, darlin', you got to go let Gem spoil ya a bit on your birthday or we'll never hear the end of it; Jax'll be on in a minute- we got a couple things to discuss." Tara's smile wavers a bit as she releases his hand, and Jax would give anything to know what she's thinking, even as she confirms her suspicions with his father.

"Club business?" JT nods apologetically, an expression Jax has seen on his face time and again, only directed towards his mother. Tara seems to accept this, but there's something in her eyes Jax doesn't quite recognize- and something he doesn't have time to analyze in the moment as she dutifully walks away and his father regards him with serious eyes.

"You and Ope still plannin' on goin' down to San Diego with our lovely ladies?" Jax nods, suddenly filled with suspicion that his father's got a motive behind asking about their road trip- Christ, if JT's going to come up with some bullshit reason they can't go on this trip they've been planning since graduation night... he'd thought this conversation was going to be about club business, but the fact that they're talking about his weekend plans is probably a bad fuckin' sign.

"Yeah," Jax begins, forcing a measure of nonchalance into his voice that he doesn't really feel. "Plan is to take off tomorrow morning, get down there late afternoon- maybe hit up the beach or something before we got to check into the hotel room. Then, we're walkin' the UCSD campus like a couple of goddamn yuppies." JT blinks, shoots Jax a look that he can't quite read.

"Son, you got to keep whatever thoughts you're havin' about this school to yourself, for the time being." Jax opens his mouth to protest, to tell his father his only problem with the goddamn place is the area's utter lack of Sons charters, but JT's expression shuts him up. "I know Rick's the one pushed Tara to make this visit and take this tour, sure, but everyone in Charming knows her mom went to school down there. You start makin' her feel like you hate the idea, like she's got to defend it, you'll be up against her hopes and dreams for her future and what little legacy she's got left to hold onto- you got to tread carefully, Son."

Jax doesn't answer; if he's being honest with himself, he hadn't really given much thought to Tara actually going to UCSD... or to this trip being something other than a much-anticipated road trip with his girl. It's way too far from Charming to really be in the running, isn't it? Besides, the fact that there are no charters within a hundred miles would mean that their plan isn't happening- something he can't bring himself to think about right now. In the end, he only nods at his father, unsure what else to say now that this whole trip is now taking on another dimension he hadn't even considered. Evidently assuming- correctly- that Jax has nothing to say in response to this advice, JT continues with the questions.

"You takin' the Cutlass?"

"Yeah, Ope, Donna and I can trade off drivin' it since Tara can't."

"Better get to teachin' her when you get back- you heard your mother." His father's smirking now, and Jax just rolls his eyes in return. "You bring that thing in here today, make sure it's runnin' right before you head off on some eight hour road trip."

"Christ, Dad, I'm not an idiot- Donna's takin' Tara over to her internship thing, so the Cutlass will be here; I'll even have Ope look at it instead of me, make sure shit's done right." JT chooses, wisely, to ignore Jax's insinuation that Opie's the better mechanic, and merely nods.

"Alright. You keep 'em safe-even though takin' the Cutlass pretty much keeps you guys anonymous- and keep your pager on you. There's always the chance shit'll come up while we're up in Oregon."

"Shit that you'll need us for? At a bike show?" Jax says, slowly; then, the look on JT's face tells him it probably isn't a simple bike show, Nothing with SAMCRO is as simple as it seems, a fact he's become all too aware of these past few weeks. JT just shrugs, dismissively.

"Probably not, I just want you to realize that a prospect's place of duty- first and foremost- is, well, wherever the fuck the club needs it to be."

"_Dad-_"

"_Prospect-_" JT mocks his tone, his eyes narrowed, but a wicked grin on his face. _Fine, point taken._ Then, the smile dissipates, is replaced by a serious gaze as JT addresses him, again. "I mean it, Jackson- the only reason you two are bein' allowed to take this trip is because it makes your Ma a little nervous to let Tara go on her own." His eyes soften a bit. "I don't think she's used to the club earning straight, quite yet." Jax just raises an eyebrow. "Okay, _mostly_ straight. But shit's lookin' good, Jackson- even LA's cooled off the past year or so according to Chico's kid. You shouldn't have any trouble, but you keep your eyes open anyway, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." There's a long pause before JT speaks again- this time, his voice is distant, thoughtful.

"I always told the guys, there's only two ways an Old Lady makes it- either you tell 'em everything, or you tell 'em nothing. I'll let you guess which one your Ma insists on." After a final, pensive look, during which Jax wonders what the fuck _that_ has to do with anything, and what else his father has in store for such an early morning, JT nods towards the breakfast table and tosses an arm over his shoulder.

"Alright, let's get us some food before Bobby and Ope clean us out."

What follows is probably the most relaxed hour Jax has spent on the lot in weeks; there's a respite from what's become near-constant bitch work- though there's plenty of ribbing and more than one cry of _Hey, Prospect!_\- and _God_, he's missed Gemma's cooking. What he finds himself enjoying most, though, is watching Tara interact with his future Brothers; when Piney ambles over to wrap her in a bear hug, she beams and returns the favor. Ope spends a good chunk of time giving her shit, as usual, which she throws right back... as usual. Chibs and Kozik press simultaneous, brief kisses to her temples as they tell her Happy Birthday and she blushes and flashes them that beautiful, shy smile of hers- and Jax considers it growth that he's looking on, fondly, instead of tamping down the jealousy.

He can tell Otto still makes Tara a bit nervous, but Luann's tucked under his arm- evidently, they're currently getting along- and Tara mostly addresses Luann and smiles sweetly at Otto. Tig, for all his animosity towards Jax, peppers her with enthusiastic suggestions about how to make the Cutlass _truly bitchin'_\- which Tara accepts agreeably, prompting Tig to break out into a grin that makes him appear almost friendly. And Bobby... Bobby's still smirking to himself after Tara had reassured him quietly that his muffins beat the hell out of Gemma's- "but if you ever tell her I said that, Elvis better leave the building, if you catch my drift."

Jax lets Tara's quiet threat- playful but even so, containing that hint of steel that's one of the many things that just... _gets_ him, about her- hang in the air as he closes the distance between them to touch her for the first time in nearly an hour. His silence is such that he manages to sneak up behind her but when he wraps his arms around her waist to press a kiss to her neck, she doesn't flinch, just allows her head to drop back to rest against him- and at that moment, it's like something settles into place.

This... _this_ is what he wants, more than anything; his Brothers- his family- his girl, his father's legacy... everything coming together with such ease, such comfort. Yeah, if someone had asked him to give his perfect scenario, the blueprint with which to map out his ideal life, it would look a whole lot like this. There's only one other thing could make the morning truly perfect, and it doesn't require anyone but the two of them. Briefly, Jax surveys the room- still full of Sons- though Gemma, LuAnn and Donna seem to have disappeared for the time being-, but everyone except Opie seems to have gravitated towards the Chapel entrance, probably for a last-minute discussion about the upcoming run up to Rogue River. Satisfied everyone is clearing out, Jax shoots Ope a look as he heads out the clubhouse door before dipping his head to whisper in Tara's ear.

"Let's go back to the apartment, Babe..." Jax lets his words trail off but brushes his lips across her cheekbone as her eyes fall closed; he can feel his cock harden at her mere proximity to him after an hour's absence... Shit, just the sweet scent of her- warm and still sleep-fragrant, lingering in her hair and the soft curve of her neck- has him almost dizzy. Another soft kiss has Tara shivering despite their current position almost smack in the middle of the clubhouse and has Jax gauging the distance to the back hallway; it's only about fifteen feet he has to get her before they're out of the clubhouse's line of sight and effectively alone. He lets his hands slide from around her waist to her hips, and not-so-subtly propels her towards their destination, letting his hips press into her to show her just what his intentions are... only to feel Tara's hands slide down his arms and still his own. She turns in his arms to press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth and whisper in return-

"Oh, I'm _going_ back to the apartment... but I'll be going alone." His face must have registered the confusion he's feeling, because the next moment her lips are curling in a smirk. "I have to get ready for my intake interview, Baby, and you know as well as I do that if you come back there with me, it's going to take a whole lot longer than the time I have before I need to leave." Jax says nothing, just draws her close again- intending on setting about convincing her otherwise- when Chibs' voice reaches his ear.

"Ay, Prospects! Ye help Gemma with the cleanin' up, an' then ye get yer asses out to tha garage- it's nearly openin' time." The Chapel door slams, leaving Jax to groan and drop his forehead to rest on Tara's, only to feel it shaking as she giggles softly.

"See? It's like I told JT earlier- we have stuff to do today. But tonight, I'm all yours, I promise." Sighing reluctantly, Jax nods- hell, it's all he _can_ do after a patched member's given him a direct order- and is just telling himself he needs to back away when Tara's hand snakes between them, exploring the hard ridge of him through his jeans for a brief moment before cupping him firmly, her eyes fixed on his. "Tonight, I'm all yours, but _this_..." He rushes to finish her sentence, tells her what he knows has been true since the moment she'd first touched him that night in the cabin.

"It's all yours... _always_." The pleased smile only has a moment to cross Tara's lips before he's curling his fingers around her wrist and dragging her hand to his lips; he presses it to his heart and tells her the other truth he's known since years before that night at the cabin- "And so's _this_." Her fingers dig into his chest, the pads heating his skin underneath his t-shirt, as she bites her lip and rises onto her toes to kiss him senseless; it's over all too quickly and he's left half-breathless- and uncomfortably hard- when she drags her lips from his to smile apologetically and make a hasty retreat down the hallway.

Jesus Christ, nobody can heat his blood like she can- keep him panting after her with only a few touches and kisses- and he's licking his lips to try to hold onto the taste of her, sustain himself through the day ahead, when he notices Gemma drumming her fingers on the breakfast table, her brows raised, cynically. Christ, how long had she been standing there? More importantly, just how much of that had she heard? Almost subconsciously, Jax shifts in a futile attempt to conceal the lingering hard-on Tara had left him with, and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"If you're checkin' for your _balls_, Jackson, Tara's probably got 'em in her purse." Okay, so she'd heard a lot.

"She don't carry a purse, Ma-"

"Don't be a smartass," Gemma interjects, tossing a couple of errant donuts onto a large platter, "you know what the hell I meant."

"Yeah, I think he caught your drift... _Mom._" Opie jokes as the clubhouse door swings shut behind him, hastily tacking on that last part to counter the look Gemma shoots him and sauntering up to grab another donut off the tray she's holding. Quickly, however, she redirects her gaze towards Jax, raising her chin to regard him with narrowed eyes.

"You know I love Tara- almost like she's my own daughter- and I've been teling the both of ya from the beginning how much I've always liked the thought of you two together. Hell, you've practically been attached at the lips for a good two, two and a half years now, and I ain't denyin' she's done more'n I ever could when it comes to gettin' you to study, finish your education." Jax braces himself for the _but_ he knows is coming. "But... you're a prospect now, Jackson, with real responsibilities that are gonna take up nearly all of your time; you best make sure she understands that you and, uh... any part of yourself you might've just told her is _hers_ are gonna be owned by the club for the immediate future."_Oh for fuck's sake..._ Frustrated, Jax runs a hand through his hair while Opie watches the show, chewing thoughtfully.

"Christ, Mom, I doubt the club's interested in my dick." Exasperated, Gemma opens her mouth, but Jax presses on, unwilling to give her the chance to make some cutting remark and further piss him off. "And as for Tara... didn't you just get done handin' her a key to the apartment_ and_ your house? Y'know, after you told her at graduation how much I was gonna need her _support_ these next couple years?"

"And you _will,_ Baby- that's why I want to make sure you both realize shit's changing. It's also why I gave her the key to the house- to give her a place to escape all of this without actually escaping." Christ, when had Tara ever given anyone reason to think she'd need to leave? That's on the tip of Jax's tongue when he remembers his own plan to leave Charming... and leave _with_ her- the plan his mother knows nothing about, if JT's still on his side. Now's probably not the time to argue about who is and isn't leaving, not when his opponent is Gemma- good at sniffing out a lie, sure, but the master of ferreting out information she isn't supposed to have.

He's just congratulating himself on managing, for once, to hold his tongue- especially since Ope's also in the room- when he realizes Gemma's still talking.

"The two of you not seein' eye to eye on things... that's gonna distract you, Jackson, and the club ain't gonna put up with distractions, not from a prospect and not from a brand new patch."

"What _things_, Ma?" Jax tries, and fails, to keep the exasperation out of his voice, and Gemma shoots him a look filled with her own exasperation- with this subject, with _him_\- as she outlines her argument, focusing her attention on combining the trays of pastries and baked goods into a single one... though Jax doesn't buy her sudden focus for a moment.

"The fact that you're gonna be at the club's beck and call for the next year, and the fact that the days of you and Tara havin' your little cozy nest back in the apartment are gonna be few and far between because of it. Or how 'bout the fact that you're not gonna be able to tell her every damn thing that's on your mind- at least not when it involves club business-" Jax snorts, which serves both to stem the flow of his mother's words and to cause Ope's eyes to fly up and meet his own in apparent agreement... though it's not like Ope's done him a lot of good to this point. _Yeah, thanks a lot, Bro. __  
_  
"You know what, Mom? All that shit's already changed! I ain't been in bed before she's been asleep but twice in the past two weeks, and even though neither of us like it, she accepts that's the way it's got to be. And club business-" he chuckles, mirthlessly, "Ope and I ain't even privy to club business, yet- we got nothin' to tell either Tara _or_ Donna." Opie looks nonplussed at being involuntarily dragged into this argument, but rallies quickly to his cause- _about goddamn time_.

"It's true, Gem; besides, the girls have been around long enough to know that the protocol is. And..." Opie shoots her an easy grin even as he backs towards Jax- one that Jax knows is meant to placate his mother, but doubts will be effective. "They got each other. Tara's done a lot to help explain the life to Donna these past couple years- hell, Donna's out there right now lettin' Dog talk her through how to maintain her cage because Tara told her he's the best mechanic we got- and if she feels comfortable around Dog, well..." Gemma waves him off with a wry grin.

"Lot of difference between Dog and Tiggy, for example... and between talkin' about the life and livin' it, Sweetheart; trust me- that _reality's_ gonna set in quick." She pauses, scrutinizes them both for a beat before adding what's obviously the final jab she thinks they can handle about their de facto Old Ladies. "And when that reality sets in, you two best be ready to either do some fast talkin' or some fast runnin'... because if you don't prepare 'em for what's comin? Two smart girls like them'll be gone faster than those bottles of Jack you all help yourselves to every weekend, and the club ain't got time to wait for you to chase 'em-"

"The fuck are you gettin' at, Mom? 'Cause from where I'm sittin', you've done nothin' but _contradict_ yourself. Either you want Tara here, or you don't and you throwin' her a birthday breakfast, givin' her keys to the kingdom, and tellin' her she's family... well, that shit don't exactly jive with what you're sayin' right now. So what's your goddamn point?" Jax isn't naïve enough to think that his glare- the one he's been told is almost a carbon copy of JT's- is cowing Gemma in any way, because as much as he loves Tara for not being intimidated by his mother, he knows that one thing JT loves about Gemma is her absolute refusal to back down when she thinks she's right. That's why Jax is surprised when her face softens, when her next words to him aren't a bitter retort meant to drive her point home.

"Baby..." Finally, Gemma abandons the breakfast table, skirting around it to press a hand to his cheek, reaching the other towards Opie who doesn't move except to let his eyes slide to the side when she seizes his hand. "Tara's a good girl- Donna, too; they're good _girls,_ and they're good for my _boys_-" Ope's eyes jerk up to meet hers. "_Both_ of my boys. But I don't want you- _either_ of you- to forget what's important, here. You're the sons of the sitting President and Vice President- takin' over this club is your legacy. It always _has_ been, and you can't do that if you're chasin' after girls that got one foot out the door already... and you _sure_as hell can't do it twisted up they're already gone."

"I'm not. Leavin'. Tara. So you can get that outta your head right now-" Gemma's shaking her head, seizing his chin and forcing him to look at her.

"That ain't what I'm _sayin__'_ Jackson. You breakin' up with her is gonna break your heart- _and_ hers- and that ain't what I want. You just need to be smart about this- both of you. You let those girls go on thinkin' they've got you pussy-whipped, there's gonna be a problem once the reality of prospecting sets in. But on the other hand, if you let 'em get to thinkin' it's too much and don't provide 'em with the reassurance that you're the one- the _club family's_ the one- that can help them find their place, here, they're as good as gone. _Especially_ Tara."

Jax swallows- with a lot more difficulty than he'd planned- and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, there's a part of him that knows she's making some sense. After all, Tara_ is_ planning on leaving- Gemma's hit the nail on the head even more directly than she thinks- and that had been a foregone conclusion ever since she'd first revealed to him her dream of one day becoming a surgeon. It's the kind of dream that can only happen outside Charming and, as driven and determined as his girl is, Jax realizes he's always known on some level that she'd be leaving- even before they'd come up with the plan that came the closest to getting them both what they wanted.

What Gemma's warning him against, though, only begins to scratch the surface of his true fear, the one that had been building ever since he'd watched Marcus Alvarez nod approvingly as Clay had taken his last, gurgling breath- that one or all of the club's past beefs would come back to haunt them. That some bullshit, long-settled feud with the Mayans, Niners, Irish, or any one of the dozens of enemies his father's club had fostered over the years would put them all in danger. That Tara would be forced to make the smart choice and get the hell out of Dodge before he was able to leave himself, get on her way to becoming the brilliant doctor Jax knows she deserves to be, somewhere she'd be safe. And since he'd known her, Tara's almost always made the smart choice; worse, yet, Jax knows he wouldn't be able to bring himself to stop her- not when it comes to her safety, and not when he knows that the only thing harder than watching her leave would be watching her hurt.

Still, Jax reminds himself, none of that shit's happened, and there's no indication it's _going_ to. As far as he knows, the Irish mess, the gun-running, the war with the Mayans... that's all behind them, and JT's been working towards moving the Sons into legitimate business. Hell, the only shady shit he's seen over the last few weeks is the comings and goings at the ice cream shop, the laundromat, and the other small businesses the club had purchased in Charming, Stockton and Lodi. He and Ope had been tasked with keeping an eye on the various enterprises, and he knows better than anyone that nobody buys ice cream at midnight... but as long as nobody's getting shot at or arrested, he figures the club has come a long way.

What Gemma's referring to, though, isn't Tara's or Donna's safety, but the problem half the Old Ladies he's ever known have had with their men: long hours, late nights, frequent runs, and too many easy women. He's pretty sure he's done all he can to show Tara what's ahead of them, all while reassuring her that she's the only one for him. Even then, there's one thing Gemma's overlooking- and it's the one thing Jax can never forget; this isn't just any teenage love they're talking about here- this is _them_... it's Jax, Tara, and this inexplicable bond he's felt with her since he was too young to know what it was. _That's_ what's going to get them through this, not any manipulations proposed by someone who just doesn't realize what they share- not even Gemma Teller.

As if he's a fuckin' clairvoyant all of a sudden, Opie speaks up and manages to say almost exactly what's on Jax's mind.

"So you're sayin' we need to push 'em away, show 'em how shitty things can get when they're really Old Ladies... and set it up so that they think they can only turn to you and the club? I dunno, isn't that a little... _manipulative_?" Gemma just shrugs, folding her arms once again as she surveys her son and the guy that's been his only brother for years, now.

"You do what you want, Sweetheart- what you feel is right. I'm just tryin' to tell you- both of you- the only way I know of that Old Ladies make it in the life. They love the man, but it's only if they're prepared for what's ahead and have learned who they can truly count on to get them through the shit that sometimes comes along with him, that they learn to love the club. The SAMCRO family... _we're_ the glue, boys. So, them little things- Tara feelin' like she has a safe space over at the house when shit gets too real here, or Donna knowin' that even though her snooty-ass parents might not approve of her bein' with you, she's always got a family in the club..._ Those_ are the things that will get those girls through the long nights without you. _Those_ are the things that will keep 'em from hittin' the ground running the first time there's trouble."

"Ma-" Gemma holds up a hand, stopping his words before they have a chance to leave his mouth.

"I said my piece, boys; you just promise me you'll think real hard on what I said. You take that trip this weekend, and you be the number one reminder that both Tara and Donna, they got everything they need right here in Charming- school, family... and the men they love. Now..." Gemma jerks her head towards the clubhouse door- "Help me carry this shit out and go on out to the garage before Dog and Junior scare off our nine-o-clock." She's strutting towards the door, heels clicking and bearing an armful of trays, before either Jax or Opie have time to respond.

"Jeessuuss Chriiissst..." Ope groans once she's fully out the door, sounding for all the world like Chibs. "What the hell are we supposed to do with that?" Jax shakes his head, stacking up the empty chafing dishes as Opie sets about gathering the lids.

"I dunno, Bro... I don't think she's givin' Donna and Tara enough credit; they're smart, sure, but they're also loyal. They've stuck with us through all the Clay bullshit, through weeks during the summer and at the beginning of the school year while the two of us were fightin' like an old married couple... I can't see where some prospect bullshit is gonna scare 'em off." Ope pauses in filling his arms with breakfast accoutrements to arch an eyebrow, and Jax instantly wonders if he's trying to convince himself as much as he is Opie... and if it's evident in his voice.

"Yeah, well, there's two things I do know, and one is that the minute either of 'em feel manipulated, like we're settin' 'em up to make the choices we want 'em to, we're both gonna wind up with our dicks chopped off."

"And what's the other thing?" Jax snorts.

"If we don't get the rest of this shit outta here, we won't have to wait for Donna and Tara to do the choppin'... 'cause your mom will be the first in line."

_That_ shit's way closer to the truth than Jax even wants to think about.

* * *

The Caddy's loaded up and Jax is just rolling up the second bay door when the stream of black leather begins pouring out of the clubhouse door- evidently, Church is over.

The Sons are raucous, excited- shouting and laughing as they cross the lot to the row of gleaming chrome and black- and not for the first time, Jax feels a pang of... _shit_, he doesn't even know what to call it, anymore._ Longing?_ Wanting to _belong_? Because as much as SAMCRO now consumes his days, his nights, his life... he's still not really a part of things, at least not where it counts; if only time could move faster, if they could skip past all this prospecting shit and get to what it really means to be a Son... Then, JT's kissing Gemma goodbye, the sound of a dozen Harleys firing up fills the air, and someone's shouting his name_. Otto._

"Change of plans, boys," the long-haired biker calls as he moves past the rest, beckoning Jax and Opie towards him with tattooed fingers. Warily, Jax waits as Opie joins them, shrugging into his Teller-Winston work shirt while Otto casually lights a cigarette. "Monroe called, and the terms of the, ah... _bike show_ have changed." Instantly, Jax recalls his father's hesitation, then confirmation that whatever SAMCRO's doing up at Rogue River is more than just a bike show. "That's all shit the two of you don't need to be concerned with. But anyway, Piney's needed up North, and I'll be the one stayin' here until after LuAnn closes down the studio late this afternoon. Then, I got an, uh... package to deliver, needs to be there by morning." Otto pauses, and Jax and Opie exchange a look. _What the fuck's he getting at?_ Otto just chuckles.

"Christ, and I thought the two of you would pick up on this shit faster, seein' as how your daddies are the Pres and VP." Otto takes a drag of his cigarette, then gestures towards the garage. "Club's gonna be gone, all of us up in Oregon after tonight. That means you two grunts should be posted up at this goddamn garage until at least Monday-" The way Jax's heart is sinking actually feels physical- as if It's now somewhere below his stomach, about to bottom out as the disappointment washes over him; apparently, they can kiss the San Diego trip goodbye. Ope shifts, too, sending Jax a glance that tells him, at once, that he's feeling the same way._ Fuck._

"Thing is, JT's hung up on how important it is you head down to fuckin' San Diego with your Old Ladies in Training- says he heard from Chico's kid that shit's heatin' up again in LA, that you got to keep 'em safe." Jax encounters a struggle to keep the _what the fuck_ look off his face- hadn't his father just told him the opposite not an hour ago? "Anyway, you two are still allowed to go play bodyguard for the weekend, but we're closin' the garage tomorrow- it was all walk-ins anyway. You're just gonna have to wait around a few extra minutes to close up tonight until I can stop by on my way outta town- 'cause I got shit to do, ya dig?" Slowly, Jax nods, relief filling his chest, seeming to expand it until he can breathe fully once again- after not one but two lectures regarding how he should handle not only this trip but Tara's outlook on San Diego, UCSD, SAMCRO... the prospect of her going alone and falling in love with her potential life down there, away from him, seems more and more real with every passing minute- and maybe his father sympathizes

.

Before Jax can think too hard on whether JT was bending the truth when he said the Sons' Long Beach charter was in a good place, or if he'd fibbed to Otto when he said shit was heating up down there- and what bullshitting about Jax's, Ope's, and the girls' safety says about the situation in either case- the noise increases as SAMCRO begins to move out of the lot in formation. JT winks as he passes- Christ, maybe he_ does_understand Jax's want, _need_, to take this trip- Piney points a thick finger at Opie, and the rest fall into pairs behind them. Gemma leans against the Caddy, watching as her husband sets off on club business for probably the thousandth time in her life, and Jax can't help noticing the look on her face- well past anxious... _worried_, even.

Behind her, Tara appears in the clubhouse doorway, grinning at Jax as she starts across the lot and the contrast between her expression and Gemma's is almost striking. Suddenly, his father's words come back to him- _There's only two ways an Old Lady makes it- either you tell '__em everything, or you tell 'em nothing. I'll let you guess which__ one your Ma insists on..._ No doubt, Gemma knows why the club's headed up to Oregon, what they're doing up there besides the bike show. Hell, it's shit they're not even telling he and Ope- and the fact that she's worried is a little unsettling. Months from now, when he's patched in and riding at the tail end of the formation, will Tara be there next to Gemma, worry creasing her brow? Or would she be happily waving, convinced they're going to some bike show, blissfully ignorant of the potential trouble that awaited?

"Hey, Baby-" Suddenly, Jax is caught somewhere between his musing about the future- the questions swirling in his head about just how much he's willing to tell Tara- and the present. For a moment, he can see it- Tara waiting for him in the lot after a long run, practically sprinting to wrap him in a hug then backing away, her hand reaching up to run her fingers over a large gash above his eyebrow, the joy in her eyes quickly giving way to concern. Then, just as quickly as it's come, the fleeting vision clears and Tara's standing before him for real this time- actual concern marring her beautiful features, prompting Jax to wrap her in his arms and press a reassuring kiss to her cheek. After a moment, she pulls back but leaves their fingers linked, studying him, her green eyes anxious. "What is it?" Jax gives her his best attempt at an easy smile, not at all willing to open the Pandora's box of shit that's been going through his mind ever since she'd left him in the clubhouse, focusing instead on how she's looking very much like a successful doctor- how endless her legs look in the slim black pants she's wearing, the mouthwatering swell of her breasts beneath the crisp white shirt and cropped jacket. Yeah, if there's anything that can take his mind off shit, it's _this._

"Nothin', Babe. You headed to your internship thing?" She nods, unable to hide the way the corners of her mouth curl in anticipation, and Jax is once again reminded that before Gemma's machinations, before JT's approval, before his, Opie's, Piney's and everyone else's worry about where Tara's head's at, what's best for her- for them... Tara's got dreams of her own- dreams he's promised to help her achieve. Smiling for real this time, he reaches for her hand- can't resist dropping a kiss to the back of her knuckles despite the fact that he knows his mother's watching- and squeezes it before responding. "You'll be great, Babe. You need a ride to class from there?"

"No, the office is just a few blocks away- I can walk. Donna has an interview later, but she said she can bring me back here around five."

"That's perfect- Ope and I gotta close up today because Piney went on the run and Otto's takin' off early to babysit LuAnn, but then I'm all yours." He glances at his mother, still leaning against the Caddy but watching them warily, lips pursed in thought. "And I do mean _all._"

* * *

The air's a little chilly for summer, and Jax is second-guessing his plans for the evening even as they roar down a deserted county highway; he'd suggested taking the Cutlass, but Tara had insisted on one more ride on the Dyna, considering they'd be spending the next few days in a cage. He smiles a bit, struck once again by just how well she knows him and just how much they both love these leisurely rides. _I'm so excited, I just need my body to feel it, and not just my mind_, she'd told him- right after she'd bent his and Opie's ears for the full hour and a half it had taken them to wait for Otto's return and close down the garage.

She'd come back from her internship nearly bursting at the seams with enthusiasm; told them how nice the vet she'd be working with was, how Doctor Carlson- _that's her name, Jackson, doesn't she just sound like a __vet?_\- had already known all about her early graduation, school record, and background and been impressed, how excited she was to observe actual procedures... everything down to how well organized and functional the office was. Her excitement had been contagious, and as a result, Jax hadn't had the heart to tell her how much easier it would be to take the Cutlass; that had led to him stuffing his supplies for the evening into the saddlebags of the Dyna and abandoning the basket he'd had them in on one of the tables in the clubhouse.

She'd been right, though- Jax can't help thinking as they chase the sun towards the horizon. They'd both needed this- the freedom, the rush that comes with riding with no real schedule to keep and no expectations of them. For a while, they deserve to escape SAMCRO, JT, Gemma, Rick, college, internships, prospecting... fuckin' Charming itself, if he's being honest- and as he opens the throttle, watches the needle cross ninety, everything else falls away. They're part of the road, headed towards the last vestiges of the setting sun; and as the engine thrums in time with his heart and the hair rises on his arms, it no longer matters whether it's due to the chill, the ride, or the fact that Tara's wrapped around him. The only thing that matters is _them._

By the time they roll past the Oak Grove Park sign and turn down a pitted gravel road, the sun's almost fully below the horizon. It's another ten minutes to the hidden picnic spot JT used to bring them to years ago- back when a Mayan attack on a picnicking family too close to the main road was a legitimate threat- and now it's past sunset, casting Tara's face in a delicate deep pink glow as he helps her from the Dyna.

"The sign said the park closes at dark-" she begins, the moment her feet touch the ground, but Jax shuts her up with a kiss, coaxing the worry from her eyes and her tongue into his mouth almost simultaneously. Tara melts into him, tangling her fingers into his hair and her tongue with his, evidently willing to overlook the rules they're breaking in favor of letting him show her how much he loves her- which reminds him why they're here. Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss, keeping a hand at her hip, and reaches behind her to unbuckle a saddlebag.

"Gimme a hand?"

They make short work of unpacking the bags- unfurling the flannel blankets under the shelter of one of the giant oak trees, dropping the plastic bags at one corner and the backpack at the other- minutes during which the sky darkens into twilight.

"What are we doing out here, Jackson?" Tara asks, just as Jax begins rooting through the backpack, the low light making it almost impossible to find what he's looking for.

"Picnic." It's a second before Tara's laughter comes rippling through the dark, the musical notes sending a smile creeping across his face.

"You planned a picnic... in the dark-"

"I planned the_ picnic_, yes, but not- dammit..." _Where the fuck are they?_ Jax gropes around the bottom of the bag a moment more, before his fingers close around what he's looking for. "-not the dark." Triumphantly, he raises his loot over his head before crossing the blanket to deposit it onto the flat rock nearby and flop down onto his ass at the blanket's edge. "We were supposed to take off a little after five, remember? Then we had to wait for Otto's slow ass..." Jax shakes his head, briefly, not willing to waste any more of the evening thinking about Otto, their time constraints, or really anything except Tara. "C'mon, babe. Lemme feed you your birthday dinner." She's got a smile for him as she lowers herself to the blanket, and the urge to see her clearly hits him once again.

Jax finds the Zippo a lot more easily than he had the candles a minute before and makes short work of lighting them all, shaking his head at the various shapes and sizes. They'd been all he could scrounge up in the junk drawers behind the bar and in the kitchen of the clubhouse last-minute- after he'd realized it was going to get dark soon after they'd arrive: five tea lights, one emergency candle in a tin, one fragrant votive that Jax remembers as one of many used in a valiant attempt by LuAnn a few years ago to clear the smell of stale cigarette smoke from the clubhouse, and-

"Is that a_ prayer candle_?" Tara asks, incredulously, her voice shaking with laughter.

"Yep. The one that's been sittin' behind the bar for as long as I can remember. I think some Mexican contact of my dad's gave it to him before one of his Belfast trips." Jax palms it, taking in the blue outline of the kneeling man with a child on his shoulders before turning it over and reading a bit from the prayer on the back.

_Dear Saint Christopher,_  
protect me today  
in all my travels  
along the road's way.  
Give your warning sign  
if danger is near  
so that I may stop  
while the path is clear.  
Be at my window  
and direct me through  
when the vision blurs  
From out of the blue.

"See? Now we won't have to worry about our trip tomorrow, Babe." Tara just rolls her eyes.

"I don't think that's how it works, Jackson." Grinning at the implication, Jax lights the candle and places it at the center of the rock, amongst the others. Using their warm glow to light his way, he reaches across Tara to lift the various small containers from their bag, fanning them out as she looks on, curiously. Sitting back on his heels, he studies his work- the mismatched array of candles on a rock, the blanket, slightly dusty from its time in the saddlebag, the styrofoam containers- and sighs. Christ, what the hell was he thinking? It's her eighteenth birthday and they're sitting here in some park at dusk, their only light a bullshit assortment of whatever he could find in some drawer full of crap; too late, it occurs to him what most girls want from their boyfriends on occasions like this... what she_ deserves._ He captures her hand, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I'm sorry Babe." Tara's brow knits, genuine confusion twisting her mouth even as she responds.

"For what?"

"For _this_-" Jax waves his hand over their setup. "You deserve a nice dinner somewhere, with real candles and a dessert menu, and... Well, I thought about it, thought about takin' you over to Lodi to the Italian place- but then I realized I was too selfish for that. I just... I wanted to be alone with you. No interruptions. No-" Before he can finish, she's on her knees, framing his face in her hands and shutting him up with a kiss. Her soft, plump, lips on his have his cock pressing against his fly in a millisecond, and he has precious little time to revel in it before she's retreating, threading her fingers between his and pinning him with that sincere gaze that never fails to make his throat dry and his heart race.

"It's perfect, Jackson, because that's what I want, too. Just you- just _us._ We'll have plenty of time to sit in a room full of people and eat overpriced pasta this weekend." Jesus, what had he ever done to deserve her? "For now, though... I missed lunch and I'm dying to know what you have in all these little boxes." Grinning- relieved more than he'd like to admit, even to himself- Jax releases her hand to pop open the variety of containers before them, watching as green eyes widen with excitement. "_Sushi!?_"

"Charming Market's tryin' something new, I guess- put in a new little sushi counter last week. I remembered you saying how much you missed this from when you lived in San Diego, and I'm pretty sure we won't get Ope to set foot in a sushi joint this weekend, so..." Christ, the guy had practically gagged when Jax had explained what was in one of the more elaborate looking rolls.

"Fancy..." Tara says with a grin.

"_Super_ fancy, Babe. So fancy, in fact, that I can't even tell you what's in most of 'em, just that this one-" he indicates the craziest looking roll " - has eel or some shit in it. And these two-" he slides two of the boxes closer to his hip "are called California rolls and are probably the only ones I'm not fuckin' terrified to try." Her laughter alone is enough to reassure him that it had all been worth it.

Twenty minutes later, the boxes are empty and tucked back into the bag, and Jax is stuffed- owing to the fact that Tara had made him try every goddamn roll he'd bought. He has to admit, though, that it had been fuckin' delicious, and yet another new experience he'd had because Tara's in his life. They're lying, side-by-side, fingers linked, when a giggle emanates from her chest.

"I'm telling Gemma you ate raw fish, you know. _And_ seaweed." Jax angles his head to shoot her a glare, its lack of bite belied by the smirk that's curving his lips.

"You'd have her thinkin' I'm turnin' into some vegan pussy?"

"Sushi isn't _vegan_, Jackson-" Tara's words halt abruptly as Jax rolls over her, squeezing at her sides, letting his fingers dance up and down her arms until she's breathless with laughter- effectively shutting her up long enough to get a word in.

"Alright, know-it-all, you want your birthday gift or not?" The flash of anticipation in Tara's eyes is enough to have Jax rolling off her to dig into the backpack again and extract two small parcels, wrapped in newsprint. If he's being honest, it hadn't been easy finding a gift for her so soon after graduation; he's a guy, for fuck's sake, and he'd had to talk himself out of both lingerie and an impromptu trip to Chester's for a brand-new crow tattoo before moving on to other ideas. Something sparkly had been ruled out next- there's only so much jewelry a girl can wear and she's already wearing the locket and the feather ring he'd given her previously. Plus, the locket had been borne of his desire to do the impossible- find some way for her to spend her graduation day with her mother. _This_, he wanted to be about _them_\- because nothing's been about them since the moment he'd started prospecting.

Looking at her now, though- eyes shining a smoky olive, the reddish undertones in her hair shimmering in the candlelight- Jax is confident, for the first time, that she'll like what he'd finally settled on. Hell, he's hoping she'll fuckin' _love_ it; gifts- love and affection at all, really- hadn't been a constant in Tara's life since her mom died, and he's spent the past two and a half years doing his best to change that.

"Pick one, Babe." Tara breaks into a mischievous grin, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, _that's_ real nice... I only get to pick_ one_?'

"Christ, Tara, I only got so many smooth moves I can make on you anymore- you can't just let me have this one?" Shaking her head, she shoots him an incredulous look.

"if there's one thing Jackson Teller doesn't need, it's any more smooth moves." Jax rolls his eyes and pushes the gifts closer to her, urging her to make a choice. She chews on her lip a moment, eyes traveling over the two packages in his hands, before tapping a slender finger on the smaller of the two. Grinning, he hands it over and watches in anticipation as she eagerly tears the paper from it- and immediately breaks out into laughter.

"Yeah, you laughing ain't helping my ego any..."

"Oh, Jackson... it's not that I don't like it, even though I still don't think your _ego_ needs any help." Tara clears away the shreds of paper to lift the framed photo out of the debris, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes in that way it only does when she's truly happy. "It's just- you remember the last day of school in the second grade?' Jax does, actually; the last day of school in elementary was always a field day, and the one that year hadn't been particularly different- except that it had ended up being Tara's last here in Charming, since her mom had died and everything had gone to hell the following winter. Apparently, she realizes he's not picking up what she's putting down and continues explaining, capturing his hand in hers.

"That's the summer my parents let me go to that camp, remember? The one out near Mokelumne the hospital gave employee's kids scholarships to? Five weeks at the beginning of the summer, and you and Opie had refused to talk to me for days after I told you, even after I said I didn't want to go. I guess you were mad I screwed up your summer plans or something- though I'm sure you just rode around Charming on your bikes like you would have, anyway." A faint memory begins to emerge, of he and Ope coming to the realization that she'd be ditching them for over half the summer... really, now that he thinks about it, that had been when they'd begrudgingly let David Hale start hanging with them again, though he'd long since forgotten why.

"Anyway... the two of you would hardly look at me, and when I promised to write you letters you just looked at each other and walked away. You were too cool, even then, to admit you'd miss me."Tara's grin turns wicked, suddenly, and Jax groans inwardly- prompting her to bite her lip micheviously. Why does she have to remember every damn thing, yet again? "But that night when I was packing, Opie knocked on the door. He didn't say shit- just handed me a roll of stamps I'm assuming he stole from that old roll top desk of Piney's, and took off running. And _you_... you turned up the next morning on the back of JT's bike. You remember what you gave me?" Dumbly, Jax shakes his head, and Tara bursts into a fit of giggles again. "A can of soda, for the drive-"

"- and my school picture, for your birthday the next week," Jax finishes, remembering at once.

"Yep, with your address written on the back- the photo was taped to the can of soda so I didn't even see the address until we were on our way. You made me swear not to tell Harry... and I never did; I _did_ write you each a couple letters, though neither of you wrote anything back." Jax can't keep the guilt off his face, but Tara just shakes her head. "The point is... this isn't the first time you've given me a photo of yourself as a gift. Talk about an ego..."

"Excuse me, Babe, but this... _this_ is a photo of _both_ of us." Tara's smile softens as her fingers brush over the glass, outlining the image of the two of them on his bike- Tara's arms wrapped securely around his waist, the both of them beaming at the camera like they have the world at their feet (hell, when he's with her, he can't help but feel like he does). "Besides, that ain't your only gift." Jax extends the other towards her, watches as Tara gently rests the framed photo in her lap and takes the second package from him; she makes short work of the wrapping and her eyes widen a bit in surprise as she uncovers the slim volume, bound in faded library linen.

"_Collected Shorter Poems_, W.H. Auden..." Tara's eyes fly up to meet his. "Isn't this a book from your Interpretation of Literature class?" Jax shakes his head.

"Nah. Well... sort of. We were supposed to pick a poem from our anthology, a selection of author's first works- and then we had to find some of that same author's other work and analyze how they'd grown. Stupid-ass assignment, really, but then I went looking around my dad's bookshelves and found this book. The guy's first poem sucked, honestly, but then I was flipping through and found out this page that was dog-eared. Here-" Jax moves to take the book, open it to the page he's looking for, but he's not quick enough and Tara's already opening the cover, pausing to trail her fingers over the words he'd written inside the cover. Words to her, things he's not keen to have her read with him sitting right here. Shit. "Tara-" Hurriedly, he cuts himself off, pushing the cover closed again before she can begin reading. Confused, her eyes find his once again, and all he can do is shake his head.

"You wrote something, but you don't want me to read it? Why?" Jax shrugs and gently takes the book from her hands.

"Just... not right now, okay? Read it later- some time when I can't be with you to tell you this shit face to face, okay?" Tara nods slowly, and Jax turns his attention to the book; it takes but a moment to find the right page- someone had bent the hell out of the corner, really, but he's thankful to have found his way so quickly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath and sets upon the task that had been the second reason- beyond the obvious, beyond the physical- he'd needed to get her alone tonight, since he's not about to let the whole of Charming witness Jax fuckin' Teller act like he's buried in a bowl of pussy whip. His voice is thicker than he'd anticipated as he begins reading, the candlelight's flickering making the words harder to make out, but he pushes through anyway- hoping upon hope that when he's finished, she won't be laughing at him.

"This... This made me think of you." _God, what if she laughs?_

_"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,_  
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

_Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead_  
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,  
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

_He was my North, my South, my East and West,_  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

_The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;_  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
For nothing now can ever come to any good."

Uncertain, Jax lets his voice fade into the night, tearing his eyes from the page to find Tara sitting on her feet, hands folded in her lap, eyes shining suspiciously in the candlelight. Christ, what is she thinking? He closes his eyes, then, unable to bear the silence that has fallen or risk seeing the amusement or dismay in her eyes at the fact that a poem entitled Funeral Blues had made him think of her. And, just as he'd feared, she asks, her voice tentative.

"Is it... about a death? The author's dead lover?" Jax's eyes fly open, but he finds none of the expected laughter or indignance on Tara's face- just intent interest. He shrugs.

"Yeah, and the narrator's apparently about the most selfish person on the face of the planet... though that might be why it struck such a nerve with me- 'cause if anything ever happened to you, I'd want to stop the whole goddamn world, too. Like he says, the sun, the stars... just go ahead and pack 'em up, because none of it's worth a shit without you," Jax bites, fiercely. Christ, he hadn't meant for this moment to be about grief- either his or the author's, and he tempers his voice as he continues, resting the book in his lap to fold her hands in his own. "I know the poem's about death, but that ain't even the most important part, to me. I... I know this ain't your thing, Tara- poetry ain't mine, either, really- but the moment I read this, I thought of you. Christ, I couldn't _stop _readin' it, couldn't stop thinkin' of you- not that I ever do, anyway."

"You're everything to me, Tara. I've always known you were the only one that got me out of the mess I was in after Tommy died, through the shit storm that surrounded JT's accident, Clay's death, Maureen, Trinity showin' up, through the rest of high school... And now with the club- I'm about to be gone more than I'm home, about to really find out what it's like to be a Son.., and I need you, Babe. I got a great family- the one I was born into and the one that chose me- but it's _you,_ Tara._ You're_ the one I look to when shit gets hard, and _you're_ the reason I survive it- that's what keeps me comin' back, to this poem, and to you. _My North, my South, my East, my West... you're_ my true North, my compass, and I don't know what I'd do without you." Jax sighs with relief; it's all out there- what he'd wanted to say, what the poem had helped him tell her- and the soft smile on Tara's face eases the tension that had been constricting his chest even as she begins speaking.

"_My working week and my Sunday rest..._ That part's just as important, Baby, because somehow, it's exactly how I feel about you. I'm better with science or math- something concrete, something with logic. But even though I can't analyze what he meant like you could, I know at its simplest, this person... they were his everything, just like you're mine. And I know that doesn't make as much sense as it should-_ I'm_ not making sense... but it's how I feel. How _you_ make me feel." She struggles to her knees, then, tugs on his hands until he's face to face with her; suddenly, he sees it, glinting in the candlelight- a tear, hanging on her lower lashes for a brief moment before it drips onto her cheek. Almost automatically, his hand rises to cradle her face, his fingertips threading into her hair, thumb gently rubbing the moisture into her cheek even as he moves to brush his lips over hers.

Christ, he's supposed to be a halfway decent writer- teachers have been telling him that shit since elementary school, really... Once again, however, Jax finds that words- his words, Auden's words- aren't enough. Everything he's said is undeniably true but falls short of describing just what he feels for her, so he lets his lips trail his unspoken thoughts against hers; he lets his tongue trace the syllables of love against her own, so that she might somehow draw in what's in his heart just as she would if it were the actual oaths he'd breathed into her lungs.

Then, she_ does_ say the words- his favorite ones- and suddenly he realizes Tara must feel the same, desperate, need to convey everything else that's behind them.

"I love you, Jackson." It's a whisper, one that's spoken against his skin, but it speaks _volumes._

"I love you, too, Tara. So much..." It's all Jax can bear to say before his lips just have to find hers again, before the need to wrap her in his arms again is too great. And so, he buries his fingers in her hair, reveling in the heavy warmth of it, dragging his fingers lazily against her scalp in counterpoint to the decidedly not-lazy way he plunders her mouth with his tongue. Again, and again, and again, he strokes her tongue with his own, lets her hair slip against his fingers until the kiss disperses, becoming a smattering of lips, tongue and teeth, each one searing his heated skin like individual stars scattering away from a firework.

When Tara's teeth find his pulse point- drawing it into her mouth to bring his blood to the surface- he groans, knowing she's marking him as her own just the way he wants to mark her with his crow; the urge to see the canvas- if not the work of art itself- overtakes him and he sinks down onto the flannel blanket, pulling her with him.

After years with him- years of doing this familiar dance- Tara senses what's coming next and trails her fingers down her sides to the hem of her shirt- a hoodie he'd snagged earlier to protect her from the chill of the ride.

"Let me..." is all Jax manages to say, his voice strained. _It's your birthday Babe... Let me take care of you_\- that part, he'll have to _show_ her. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, Jax pulls the hoodie and her t-shirt over her head, dropping them carelessly somewhere nearby. The sight of her- her hair a wild halo framing her face, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with desire- is such that it requires supreme effort on his part not to simply tear at her clothes and plunge into her as soon as he can manage; he stays his hand, skimming both of them up her sides and around her back to release the clasp of her lacy bra. The straps are still sliding down her arms when he just can't take it anymore and lurches up to capture a dusky nipple in his mouth, drawing as much of her into his mouth as he can before releasing her to trail kisses across her chest so he can bestow the same upon its twin. She arches into him, capturing his hair with her fingertips, tugging insistently to urge his mouth back up to meld with hers for a brief moment- and then he's back on his mission- his sole focus to strip her bare and show her with warm skin and hot tongue just how much he loves her.

Gently, Jax pushes her down onto the blanket- shifting so that he's hovering above her- and slides down her body, pressing kisses to her skin; he swears it gets softer and softer as he travels south, until the near-velvet of her belly disappears into the rough denim of her cutoffs. He doesn't bother with the button on her shorts, just slides them down over her hips and tosses them away into the darkness; her panties follow a similar path down those long, long legs, and then, finally, she's all his- spread out on the blanket beneath him like a dream. It's then that his earlier thought returns to him, but now he realizes her body isn't the canvas, it's the art. Her skin is golden and shifting in the flickering candlelight where it's usually flawless porcelain... different, tonight, but every bit the girl- the _woman-_ he loves.

Jax doesn't hesitate, just dips his head to taste her skin; but where he'd usually lick a stripe down her belly to his target, tonight he breathes hot into her navel and trails his tongue along its path, savoring every inch of warm skin along the way. Where he'd usually seize her hips and delve into the silky depths of her, tonight he ghosts a hand up her thigh to drape her leg over his shoulder and nuzzles the thatch of curls that protect the very center of her. When he'd normally lash her nub with his tongue and have her shuddering in mere minutes, tonight, he wants everything she'll give him... And so, he presses damp kisses to her mound, her lips, the quivering plane of her inner thigh; when his tongue finally touches her for the first time it's as if the electric shock zings through both of them.

He revels in the lush taste of her, savoring every drop, and soon- too soon- she's arching into him, with her hips this time. The rough flat of his tongue and the smooth tip of it draw all her sticky sweetness into him until her quivering grows into shaking and her soft pants sharpen into throaty cries. Only then does he plunge, twisting one finger, then two, deep inside of her as his relentless tongue strokes the center of all her pleasure, and he watches as the tension finally breaks, arching her back and baring her neck as she shouts his name into the darkness.

And suddenly, just as quickly as this had all begun, Jax realizes that the time for savoring her is over; his name is still on her lips as he practically tears his shirt off his body, her taste still on his tongue as he strips his jeans and boxers down his legs, somehow, without bothering to unfasten the buttons. Just as languidly as he'd kissed his way down her body, now he's gliding back up- capturing her mouth as he slides into her wet heat and mingles her moans with his own. Almost instantly, she's fluttering around his cock and he's not sure if she'd ever come back down from her first orgasm... but by God, he'll give her another.

As Jax starts circling his hips, dragging his skin against hers like he knows she loves, he raises onto his elbows, freeing some space between them so he can bow his head and graze her nipple with his teeth. Then, he soothes it with his tongue, tasting the soft sheen of sweat on the one, then the other- back and forth, back and forth until a half-desperate cry rips from her throat and he gives in to what they both need. He sinks into her, reveling in the hot, slick, grip of her surrounding him, moving faster and faster until- too soon, once again- he can feel the tension in his spine tugging at his groin.

"Jacks...onnnnnn" Tara practically sobs, and between the sound of her voice and the way her inner muscles are rippling around him, he's just done. It's as if his release begins at the base of his spine and radiates outward- he plunges into her in a rhythm that only makes sense to them as he groans his pleasure into her ear, dropping his full weight on her to press into her once, twice more before practically exploding inside her at last.

It could have been minutes before either of them moves, or hours- Jax isn't really sure. At some point- he's also not sure when- she'd released his shoulders, leaving a series of pleasantly stinging indents near the base of his neck and trailing her fingertips down to rest above the cleft of his ass. All he knows is that the ground is hard and the night is chilly- and that there's no way his girl is going to have to feel either, not on her birthday. So he rolls them so that she's draped across his chest, drags the other blanket- the one they'd barely set foot on- over the both of them, and says the one thing he's neglected to say all day, followed by the one thing he'll _never_ stop saying to her, so long as he's breathing.

"Happy birthday, Tara... _God,_ I love you."

"It was perfect... and I love you too."

* * *

The sunrise is what wakes him, bright beams that have finally risen above the horizon sending a shaft of sunlight dancing across his face. Blearily, he reaches for Tara before realizing that the pleasant weight on his chest is, in fact, her. Christ, by some miracle, his back doesn't even hurt- despite the activities of last night and the unorthodox sleeping position he'd woken up in.

They'd awoken the first time to shadows dancing on the tree limbs above- only the last couple inches of the St. Christopher candle had remained to cut the surrounding pitch-dark; snuggled, naked, under the rough wool blanket, Jax had read a few of Auden's other works aloud before Tara's nimble fingers had succeeded in tantalizing him into another round of some of the best sex they'd ever had. His cock twitches at the memory, awakens with the promise of more with her draped atop him, and he can't resist skimming his hands down to Tara's ass, then back up. He's just beginning to plot his next move when an odd, rhythmic buzzing catches his attention. His hands slowing, Jax listens more intently as it comes again... and again, and again, leaving him to wonder whether some cicada had found its way into their pile of clothing. Until, that is, the realization of what the buzzing is hits him like a bolt to the chest-_ t__he__ fuckin' pager._

Gently rolling Tara off him- making sure to drape the blanket over her even as she stirs, groggily- Jax pads, naked, to the other side of the tree where his jeans had landed and fishes the pager out of his pocket. _Fuck- three pages._ According to the time, though, they'd all been in the past five minutes and a bit of relief settles in, only to be shoved out of the way as a new panic tears through his chest- they're at least a fifteen-minute ride away from any place with a phone._ FUCK._ Swallowing his nerves, pushing the panic back down into his gut, where it simmers with the fear that he's about to fail some test, he gently shakes Tara awake.

"Babe, we gotta get out of here- park's opening any minute. Besides, we gotta get back so we can load up the Cutlass for the trip." All she can do is nod wearily and send him an exhausted smile, and Jax sighs with relief. Next step- to find some way to call to check in without cluing her in that something could be wrong.

Nearly twenty minutes later, they're pulling into a gas station and Jax is simultaneously confident Tara's not aware of the true reason that had driven them to leave so quickly and certain that JT, Piney, Chibs, or all three are about to rip him a new one for failing to answer. Surreptitiously, he checks the pager- seven pages, now.

"I'm going to use the bathroom while you fill up," Tara says, smiling leisurely and dropping a quick kiss onto his cheek before sliding off the Dyna. _Thank God._.. Now he can make the call, grovel and beg for forgiveness for stupidly spending the night so far from a phone, pass his first test as a Prospect, and hopefully get on with the weekend. Jax watches her head across the lot, waits until she's well into the gas station before abandoning the Dyna next to one of the pumps and rushing to the payphone that's bolted to the outside of the building. Thank fuck he's got quarters; they clink through the interior of the phone and just like that, he's got a dial tone. The number's unfamiliar- Jax assumes it's the Rogue River clubhouse, at least at this time of morning- and he dials it carefully, one numeral at a time. One ring, then another, and then he barely hears the receiver lift before his father's voice is filling his ear.

_"Jackson?"_

"Dad- I'm sorry. I-"

_"Ain't got time. You on a payphone?"_

"Yeah."

_"Good. Listen- shit went down. Otto got into it with one of LuAnn's cameramen last night- the one that's been givin_ _' her all the trouble. Roughed him up a bit- I'm not sure if he mentioned that shit to you guys last night or not."_

Last night? All Otto had told Jax and Opie when he'd finally appeared at Teller-Winston was to get the fuck out of there and start their weekends, and Jax had been so distracted, making sure he had everything he needed for Tara's birthday night loaded up, that he'd barely given Otto a second glance.

"Naw, he-"

_"Alright, well, Otto- he was supposed to meet up with Happy just south of the Oregon border with, ah... a package. From LuAnn. You catch my drift?"_

No, Jax doesn't, and his hesitation has his father sighing into the phone.

_"Some... funds. So_ _ we can pay for entrance to the bike show. I ah... forgot my wallet."_

Then it dawns on him- whatever deal his father had been making up in Oregon this weekend had required some cash... cash the club had likely needed to borrow from LuAnn's porn empire. Otto had probably agreed to get it from her, then shuttle it up to Oregon.

"Supposed to?"

_"He never showed, Son. And we got a collect call about an hour ago from San Jua County Jail- apparently, Otto got jumped by the cameraman and a couple of his buddies and went down... busted his leg, wrecked his bike completely, and got picked up by the __Sherriff's."_ JT sighs. _"He... h__e's the only one that's still breathin__'. It looks bad, Jackson."_

Shit. He's able to read between the lines much more easily on this one- Otto had taken out everyone that had jumped him, probably gotten himself hauled in for murder or at least manslaughter.

_"Point is, Otto ain't comin' back outta San Jua until this gets cleared up, and we still need our spendin' money. He was able to get rid of it, didn't get hemmed up until he reached the highway; he gave us the coordinates in code. I wouldn't ask ya this if I had a choice- I know you're supposed to be headed down to San Diego with the girls, and I don't like this bein' your first real job for the club... but we're on a time crunch. By the time someone from up here spends nearly five hours drivin' down to the location then another five drivin' back up, it'll be too late. We need you and Ope to take the van, stay low key, and retrieve the package- get it up here before three o'clock or... Lives are at stake, here, Jackson. Can I count on you?"_

Jax swallows, the anticipation that had been building for the San Diego trip this weekend draining right out of him even as his adrenaline spikes, the implication of what JT's saying sending his heart into his throat.

"Yeah. You can count on me."

_"Alright. Get Tara back home- I assume she's with you?"_

"Yeah."

_"Get Tara home, and you and Ope get headin'- I already gave him the location. You got me?"_

"I got you."

_"Oh, and Jackson- I'll fill ya in on what you can tell Tara, later. For now, keep it vague. And tell her I'm sorry. I really am, Son- I didn't mean for you boys to get involved in this. Not just yet. But tell her I'm sorry, alright?"_

"Yeah."

The click seems to echo in his head long after his father's already off the line.


	10. Ch 10

****I own nothing you recognize****

The ride back to Charming feels different to Tara- though it's the same route they'd taken last night- and the memory of something her mother had said years ago beckons as Jackson steers the Dyna onto 88.

They'd spent the final weekend before school began up at Lake Camanche, just Tara, Grace, and Rick, clinging to the last vestiges of a lazy summer; Tara was still brushing sand from her legs- and, subsequently, from the vinyl back seat of the Cutlass- when her mother had groaned softly at the sight of the familiar Welcome to Charming sign.

_"Why is it that the trip towards vacation is always so much longer than the one back home?"_ Her father had just laughed and squeezed his wife's hand, prompting her to scoot a little closer on the large bench seat up front.

_"It's the same stretch of road no matter which direction you're going, isn't it?"_ Grace had shrugged absently, turning her head to watch the outskirts of town roll by.

_"We'd been talking about taking the weekend forever, but once we were there, once it was a reality, time just seemed to speed up. And the trip back... it seemed like it took us ages to get up there on Friday afternoon, but now it's like I blinked and we're back in Charming."_

Tara supposes she hadn't really understood, then, what her mother had been getting at- that it always seemed the things you're looking forward to, things like vacations, events, birthdays- took forever to come around, but once they were here, they ended almost as quickly as they'd begun. As a kid, everything had been exciting- the prospect of school starting had likely made the return trip to Charming just as interesting as the one up to the lake.

Now, though... after experiencing the normally endless trip from San Diego to Charming in her father's Cutlass as a fifteen-year-old- a trip that should have seemed endless and awkward due to the fact that she'd had almost no interaction with him whatsoever in seven long years- she understands how the same hours, the same miles, between something you love and something you dread can seem inherently different. Her overall nerves over returning to Charming, her father's house, the friends she'd neatly cut out of her life, had seemed to rush in and send them speeding along towards their destination, and they'd pulled up in front of her childhood home long before she'd felt ready to face it.

Today, there's a little of that going on, for sure; the ride out to Oak Grove had been exhilarating- after a long few weeks of seeing Jackson either briefly at the garage or in the middle of the night as he slipped into bed behind her, she'd been torn between never wanting it to end and wanting to get somewhere- _anywhere_\- where they could be alone. Once they'd gotten there, the night had been beyond perfect, too- nothing to distract them from each other, nobody to intrude, for once... and yet another glimpse into the Jackson she's almost positive only she knows.

Tara smirks for a moment at the fresh memory of a naked Jackson, reading her poetry by the light of a motley assortment of candles, then practically worshiping her body as their lights flickered out one by one. Yeah, that memory that will no doubt take its place among her fondest; even as she anticipates the weekend ahead and the time they'll spend with Donna and Opie, the memories they'll make, she knows her favorites will always be the times she and Jackson are alone, locked away from the world around them.

Tara buries her cheek into the center of Jackson's back, tightening her arms around his waist, and he responds with a brief squeeze of her thigh; though it's a routine they've repeated countless times since he'd received the Dyna on his sixteenth birthday years ago, she can't help noticing just how... _different_ it all feels this morning, that niggling feeling that it's more than a simple return to reality after a brief respite. The road's different- something beyond the fact that they're headed into the sunrise instead of chasing the sunset. The ride's different- they'd been so carefree, last night, finally free from club and school responsibilities for the weekend to come, and now she can't help but feel as if they're returning to them, somehow. Most importantly, though... _he's_ different.

Jackson's back- that broad plane of bone and muscle she's loved pressing her cheek to ever since that first ride with him, loved the way he seems to melt into her and return her embrace even as he guides his bike over the unforgiving pavement- is ramrod straight. Actually, it's more than straight; it's... stiff, in exactly the way she'd heard JT describe more than once as the most dangerous way to ride (something about the difference between hitting the pavement while tensed up versus relaxed, and God knows he's got more experience with that than anyone). In fact, the tension seems to be vibrating through him, traveling with the thrum of the engine through the center of his body and into her. It's almost tangible, really- something Tara feels like she could reach out and touch, curl her fingers around... and wrest away from him if she could.

They pull onto the lot to find Opie leaning against the Cutlass and smoking a cigarette, and for a moment, Tara's surprised; they'd agreed to meet back here and load up late morning, and barely seven AM isn't considered late morning even when you're a prospect for a club that frequently sees both ends of the night. Even more puzzling is the fact that Donna's not here with him- if Ope had decided to get an early start on San Diego, there's no way he'd have come here without her.

The Dyna comes to a stop in the new space she's still getting used to (not that she'd spent a great deal of time on the back of his bike these last few weeks)- closer to the entrance of the clubhouse now that Jackson's a prospect. By the time the engine cuts off, Ope's halfway across the lot; by the time he reaches them, Jackson's still sitting on the bike, as if poised to take off again. Tentatively, Tara rests a hand against the center of his back- still as rigid and tense as it had been before... only this time, he appears immovable as well. Uncertain, Tara slides off the Dyna, her feet hitting the ground by the time Opie remembers himself and extends his hand to help steady her; she'd have waved him off, but something on his face stops her. _Just what the hell is going on?_

"You guys, uh, have a good time?" Although it had been Tara's birthday, Opie's eyes are determinedly resting elsewhere as he asks the question; absent, too is the usual ribbing Tara had come to expect from him. Instead of giving them shit about what they'd gotten themselves up to and then mock-groaning when the answer was something he didn't want to hear, her friend just stands there, fiddling with the zipper of his kutte, refusing to look at her. Jackson is the one who finally answers- finally _moves_\- swinging his leg over the seat of his bike and unclipping his helmet.

"Yeah... we _did._" The conviction in Jackson's voice is a little startling, but it brings a slow smile to her face; the kiss he presses to her temple a moment later is almost reassuring, setting her wondering if, perhaps, she hadn't been reading too much into both Jackson and Opie's demeanors. Then, just as swiftly as it comes, the feeling is gone.

"Uh, can I talk to you a minute, Jax? Some shit JT wanted me to tell you about..." Guiltily, Opie's glance finally slides over to Tara, and she's struck with the sudden, unfamiliar urge to wipe it right off, knock some sense into him even as she waits for Jackson to slide an arm around her and say that whatever bike show story JT's got, Opie can give him in front of Tara.

It's a moment that never comes, however, because Jackson just nods and hangs his helmet from the handlebar, follows Opie over to the picnic tables without a backward glance; there, they speak in hushed tones even as they both light up cigarettes... and it's then that Tara realizes this isn't about any bike show, that whatever had come down from JT had been _club business_\- part of a world she's not welcome to. Really, it isn't that she minds being kept out of the inner circle of SAMCRO's secrets- frankly, she's not sure she _wants_ to know, even though Jackson had been fairly open about what had been keeping him out late all these nights, and even though he's been telling her from the moment he shrugged on the prospect kutte that there was precious little information he and Ope were even privy to.

No, being out of the loop is something Jackson had been preparing her for- even as he tried to soften its edges- ever since they'd solidified their plan to stay together. Hell, JT had been kindly excusing himself and others from her presence to discuss club business as far back as she can remember. Now, though... still stings- irrational as it is- to have the love of her life shuttled away by her best friend since childhood because they share information she can't be trusted with.

Effectively dismissed, Tara leans back on the Dyna's seat, tries to pinpoint the moment the air around Jackson had changed, earlier; she _can't_ really, she realizes- he'd woken her quickly and without his usual lingering kisses and touches... but he'd been in such a hurry to get back here, she'd thought little of it. It wasn't until the ride back- after they'd stopped for gas- that she'd realized just how tense he was. Whatever he and Ope are discussing now isn't going to make that go away, from the looks of it- Jackson's currently got his arms crossed so tightly she can see his biceps bulging, even underneath his t-shirt, and his fingers seem to be digging into his arms with such force she wonders if he'll leave bruises on the soft flesh there.

Tara also wonders, idly, if he realizes he does that often when he's stressed or angry, or if he realizes it's one of many small tells she's learned to interpret when it comes to him. For example, the way his eyes dart down before he looks up at her through his thick, pale lashes when he's about to try to pull one of his patented, Jax Teller, fuck-me-baby moves (even though she's told him time and again how poorly they work on her... moments before she's dragging his mouth to hers anyway). Or when he shuffles his feet when he's embarrassed or feeling shy, even as he projects the utmost confidence in himself. Or how he licks his lips and shoves one hand into his pocket while the other strays to the back of his neck when he's about to lie to his mother... or _her_, since that's exactly what he's doing right now as he approaches. _Fuck_.

"So, Ope was fillin' me in on the club's current situation..." Yeah, _that's_ the truth- he's looking her dead in the eye. But why would he need to lie about whatever the club is up to? More, why would he bother to tell her anything in the first place, when it would be so much easier to keep this one close to the vest (the kutte, in his case, Tara thinks, oddly) and get on their way towards San Diego without-

_Oh._

The knowledge they're not going to San Diego, that Donna's absence suddenly makes sense, that something, some... _shit_... had come up with the club is obvious now, even as Jackson wearily rubs the back of his neck; even as Opie hovers in the background, eyeing her cautiously as he lights another cigarette. Still, Tara doesn't ask, lets Jackson stand there and grow more and more uncomfortable even as he holds that sincere gaze. Shit, how long had he known about whatever this is? Definitely not since last night, here at the clubhouse- and after that, they'd been unreachable. Maybe he'd had time to call up to Oregon from the gas station- it would explain the unbearable tension that had been rolling off him ever since.

"They... they need us up there, Babe. Like, _now_\- as soon as we can get there. We're gonna have to bail on the San Diego trip, and you know I wouldn't do that if it weren't important." His eyes search hers, and she knows in that moment that everything he's said so far is true. "JT wanted us to tell you how sorry he is- he wanted us to be able to go... he's... I'm... shit, Tara, we're _sorry_." _Also__ true_, she thinks, absently, as he takes her hand in his and squeezes it; the disappointment in his eyes is proof positive of that- he'd wanted to go, she's got no doubt, and there's no way he'd be backing out now unless the Sons really did need him up there. Then, slowly, the dread comes creeping in as she tries to imagine a scenario where he- or JT, or even Piney, really- would agree to cancelling this whole thing. What could make Jackson and Opie's presence in Oregon so pressing, so... necessary? As the scenes begin playing out in her head, each one more dire than the last and none involving something so simple as a goddamn bike show, she almost blurts out the question.

"Is... is it safe? Whatever they need you for?" Immediately, his eyes leave hers for the first time since he'd walked over and even before his free hand strays to his hairline, Tara knows that what's about to leave his mouth is a lie. It's the first time she knows of that this tell of his- the lying- had been directed at her. She knows he's trying to reassure her, but it doesn't hurt any less... or make the fact that he's lying about his safety any less disconcerting.

"'S'all good, Babe. Just some associates wantin' to meet the sons of the Pres and VP. Plus, we got to bring some shit up there that Otto left behind. But..." And just like that, he's back- her sincere, sweet boyfriend, hating himself for disappointing her. "I'm so sorry, Babe. You got to believe me when I say I'll make it up to you. Because I will. It's just- " And serious, sincere though he is, Tara can't stop herself from finishing his sentence, sounding a lot more bitter than she'd meant to, compounding the guilt that's written on his handsome face like a fucking book.

"..._club business_. Right." It's a moment before he responds, blue eyes burning into hers in the meantime almost like they had last night, during their all-too-brief respite from Charming and the club.

"Listen, we- Ope and I- got to go, they're expecting us up there by early afternoon. I'll..." Again, Jackson's face falls, the disappointment of it all as plain as day. Quickly, though, he seems to steel himself, dons that neutral, businesslike mask Tara's begun to see on his face when he's trying to step back from Jackson Teller, hopelessly devoted to Tara Knowles, and become Jax Teller, SAMCRO prospect and future President. "I'll drop you at Gemma's, there's no reason for you to stay here with the place deserted like this."

Tara nods, miserably, and Jackson slouches off- ostensibly to let Opie know where he's headed; the thought of having Gemma around during this- the first, tough, prospect gig the guys have had- is oddly comforting. Trinity's not here this weekend and the thought of getting Gemma alone, maybe picking her brain about what all she thinks is really going on in Oregon, is tempting. Even more tempting is the prospect of spending the day on her couch, letting herself be mothered in the way she knows Gemma's been itching to do for years- and she can't say that sulking while Jackson's mother fusses over her sounds like the worst thing in the world. Hell, maybe she'd even invite Donna over- they can all bitch about their men being called off to this stupid bike show and whatever pressing matters had come along with it-

Donna.

Donna can drive. Donna, who she's barely seen these past few weeks outside of catching a ride various places within Charming, because they've both been fitting a ridiculous amount of work and school hours into their days. Donna, who'd taken the entire weekend off to go on this trip to San Diego... the one that's been abruptly cancelled because the men in their lives suddenly have to ride off to Oregon, of all places. She can drive them, as planned, to San Diego. And, just as quickly as the idea had entered her head, Tara's quickstepping over the asphalt and calling Jackson's name.

"Jackson! I... I'm not going to Gemma's." He stops abruptly, and Opie does, too- both turn to stare at Tara in surprise as she reaches them, a little breathless from the sudden conclusion she'd come to. She ignores Jackson for the time being- even though his was the name she'd called- and focuses on Opie. "Call Donna. We're still going to San Diego- uh... if she wants to. She can leave her car here and we'll take the Cutlass like we planned. There's no sense in her taking the entire weekend off work for no reason." She's not sure what the expression is that's currently crossing Jackson's face- though he doesn't look happy- but Opie's is still resting squarely on surprised.

"Someone's gotta lock the gate, Tara, and we can't wait around for Donna to get here, or for you two to load all your shit int-"

"We're not stupid, Opie. Even us women can manage to shut a gate and latch the padlocks." _God,_ it's hard to keep the snark out of her voice... and she doesn't think she was successful, judging by the way Ope rolls his eyes and how Jackson suddenly looks desperate to convince her otherwise.

"It ain't gonna happen- it's a long trip by yourselves, Babe. JT- "

"First of all, don't tell me what is and what isn't gonna happen. _Second_ of all, JT would be letting you guys go along with us if he were that concerned about the length of the trip-" Tara rushes on as Jackson opens his mouth "-_or_ our safety." She knows it isn't fair, knows that JT cares about her safety probably more than he does his own- knows that to counter her argument, Jackson would need to tell her more than he was comfortable revealing about how much JT needs him up there... It's just that she isn't particularly interested in playing fair; Jackson being unable to argue with her is the goal, here, and they both know it. Nervously, Jackson checks his pager; apparently finding nothing, he glances, desperately, at Opie, who just runs a hand over his beard.

"We gotta go, Bro. It's a five hour plus ride, and who knows how long it'll take for us to, uh, pick up the shit Otto forgot." Opie's no more willing than Jackson is to spill any information- but he doesn't try to talk Tara out of the San Diego trip, either, and for a moment she's grateful they seem to be strapped for time. Tara pulls Opie into a hug, though her face is chest-level at this point; Christ, it's like he's still getting taller.

"Call Donna. Please. Things will go a lot quicker if she's here when I get out of the shower, and I know she's probably still over at your house." She looks up, then, surveying the slight smirk that's almost hidden by Opie's beard as she pulls away to rest a hand on his cheek. "Stay safe." Tara can't help that her eyes flicker, briefly, to Jackson and Opie's follow them, then alight on her again with understanding. "_Please?_" He nods, as if realizing what she hadn't been able to ask him in front of Jackson himself, then bends a bit to kiss her cheek.

"Always." Then, he's stalking towards towards the clubhouse- hopefully to call Donna- and suddenly she can't breathe because Jackson's fairly squeezing the life out of her and burying his face in her neck. God, he smells good, even after a night spent sleeping on the ground- which leads her to wonder if he's as tired as she is, if a five and a half-hour ride on very little sleep is a good idea... The words die on her lips, however, when she realizes that nothing- no amount of pleading, concern, or common sense- is going to shake the sense of duty Jackson's feeling at the moment.

He lays a gentle kiss at the curve of her neck, making her shiver, then drags his lips to hers to bestow a hot, wet kiss upon them, almost desperate in its intensity. Tara can no more help the moan that mingles with their breaths than he can the hard ridge that's suddenly pressing, insistently, into her belly; after a long minute- their hands unwilling to stay anchored safely on shoulders and hips, roaming wherever they please, unable to let go- Jackson plants one more kiss on her lips, then rests his forehead on hers, breathing heavily.

"Christ, Babe, we gotta stop or I'll be sliding into the backseat of the Cutlass with you, and we'll be givin' Donna a trip to SoCal she'll never forget..." _That,_ Tara doubts- but suddenly, keeping a smile on her face, keeping just how nervous this all makes her off her face, for him, is of the utmost importance.

"We'll be fine, you just focus on whatever it is you have to do so you can get back here. Stay safe, and watch out for my best friend, too, okay?" Her eyes search his, and her heart sinks a little as she finds that glimmer of the lie- the guilt- again, even as he nods and kisses her before pulling away to slip an envelope out of the pocket of his kutte and into her hand.

"For gas, and the hotel, and … whatever. Okay?" Tara nods, but wants to shove the envelope back at him, shout, maybe even cry, that she wants _him_ on this trip, not his goddamn money. Then, he's taking his pad and pencil out of a back pocket and scribbling something on it, pressing it into her hand too before bending to kiss her again. "Page me when you get there, so I know you guys made it alright." Again, the hurt, the... _anger_, she guesses it is- wells up in her, and it's easier to walk away as long as she holds onto it. Though, it isn't really easy at all, because if it were, she'd be staying out in the lot to watch them ride away instead of hiding in the apartment. But this- sending him off on club business, into what she suspects is more danger than he wants to admit- would get easier with time. Right?

Not even thirty minutes under some blisteringly hot water can convince Tara of that one, but by the time she's dressed and ready to head out to the lot to wait for Donna, Jackson and Opie are gone.

* * *

They're somewhere on the 5 in the middle of farm country, when the local rock station that had been threatening to fade out for the past fifteen miles finally allows static to drown out the newest Radiohead song. They'd been singing along to nearly everything that had come on since Lodi, and Tara's throat is sore from belting Oasis and Foo Fighters; her feet are propped up on the dash- she'd abandoned her Chucks in the back seat after the last pit stop- the passenger window is cracked, and holy shit if she's not relaxed despite everything that had happened earlier today... Though that could definitely be the joint they'd shared a few miles back.

Donna frowns and turns the dial, pausing on the several stations that seem to be broadcasting in Spanish, the news, or both, before settling on one that sounds promising. They listen for a moment as the DJ winds down his spiel, then announces that Hank Williams is coming up next. Wrinkling her nose, Donna switches off the radio and stays silent, much to Tara's relief; it isn't that she doesn't like talking, really, just that she's perfectly content as-is. Especially since the inevitable topic of conversation- their absentee boyfriends- is going to be with someone who's even more out of the loop than she is. Christ, she doesn't even know if Opie had told Donna anything besides the fact that JT had told him he had to attend a bike show, and it isn't really her place to mess with whatever he'd decided. Tara's still contemplating this, staring out at the seemingly endless fields, when Donna breaks the silence.

"How are you doing with all of this?"

"All of what?"

Christ, Tara knows she's being obtuse, but it's just like Donna to jump right into the heart of the matter; she'd expected some surface chatter about the drive so far, or something, first. Actually, though, Donna and Gemma are two of the most forthright people she's ever met... which is why it's funny that Donna had spent nearly the entire first year she was dating Opie in abject terror that Gemma would corner her at some SAMCRO family event. Now, though, in true Gemma fashion, Donna shoots Tara a dry look.

"Oh, you know. The guys not being around... the fact that I've barely seen Ope the last three weeks, let alone you or Jax... and the fact that here we are, driving to San Diego by ourselves while our boyfriends go up to some stupid bike show that's suddenly completely necessary." Donna's voice is bitter, her eyes suddenly fixed on the road, and Tara still has no earthly idea what Opie had told her. She sighs, deciding to start on safe territory.

"I guess I was expecting this to happen a whole lot sooner, you know? Them getting pulled away from something we'd been planning for club business? The late nights have been fine, I guess... but I know it's going to be a lot harder once I have my internship and classes, you know? The coming and going, waking up every time he comes to bed at three AM-" Donna snorts, derisively.

"Yeah, well, at least you get to spend every night with Jax at the clubhouse. Unless I tell my parents I'm spending the night at your house and just go to Opie's, I don't see him... and even then, I'm taking the chance I'll get left in bed alone the moment the club comes calling."

"Maybe you could move out? Get a place of your own so you don't have to deal with your parents-"

"Why do you think I dropped the internship idea, Tara? I'll have to make enough to pay rent and for classes, since I know Daddy won't pay if I move out. Christ, the whole reason I'm staying in Charming next school year is to save money, and staying with them was supposed to be part of that. But believe me... as soon as I have enough saved up, I'm finding a place of my own." She sighs, then, runs a hand through her dark hair before smiling, wryly at Tara. "I'd take a page out of your book and just stay over at the clubhouse full time... but all the other dorms are pretty freakin' small, and you got no idea just how much space is left for me after Opie's big ass climbs into that twin bed."

The laughter almost makes Tara forget what they'd been talking about, until Donna sobers once again.

"I just- we just need to make it through these next several months until they're patched. Then shit should go back to normal." Tara's silent; what _is_ normal, really, when it comes to SAMCRO? Late nights... parties... long runs... actually, it all just sounds a whole lot like prospecting, minus the bitch work. Still, though, at least then it would make sense for she and Jackson to find an actual apartment somewhere together for her second year of college- he wouldn't be at the club's constant beck and call... at least not to this extent. _Right?_ Suddenly, Tara realizes Donna's continued speaking.

"- then after Ope's patched in and I finish up my two years at CCC, maybe everything will seem a lot clearer, you know?' Tara nods, since that's basically what she'd been hoping for as well. "What about you, Tare? You still planning on sticking Jax with Ope and I to babysit while you become some big, badass doctor?"

_Sort of..._

"Uh... I guess I'm in the same boat as you are. Finish up what I can in town, and then see what my options are. I know I'm applying to a bunch of schools this year, sort of see what scholarships they offer me before I make any decisions." _God_, it feels shitty to lie, even by omission; but JT's always been the only one Jackson thinks he can trust with their plans to leave Charming, and he seems to think telling Donna or Opie is as good as telling Gemma. As for Gemma, herself, well... she'd warned them both from day one not to let Jackson lose sight of his legacy. Tara shudders, involuntarily, at the inevitable prospect of telling the matriarch their plans.

"I... I just want this to work so badly, you know? Ope..." Donna swallows, thickly, before continuing, her knuckles white on the steering wheel of the Cutlass. "He's not like anyone I've ever met. He's so big, so hard to read, so... _SAMCRO_\- you don't even really know how much is going on behind those eyes until you take the time to look. I'm just lucky that nobody actually _had,_ before- I think they were all too focused on Jax." Tara rolls her eyes and Donna continues. "I_ love_ him, Tara- despite what my parents say- and sometimes I find myself planning my entire future around him. Two years at CCC, and then I could find a good paying job- at the bank, maybe, or even out at St. Thomas..." Donna's voice trails off, wistfully

"I think about that too, Donna, really. I've thought about putting my classes on hold until Jackson's done prospecting, so I can spend every minute with him that I can. Or even just becoming a nurse, like my mom was... I could work at St. Thomas and never really have to leave Charming at all. But, for me, that's the tricky part- I love Jackson, and I love you and Ope, and all the SAMCRO guys... but staying here would mean giving up being a doctor, and I just don't know if I can do that without also eventually hating Charming. Does that make sense?" Donna nods, slowly.

"Yeah, it does. I'm just different, you know? I've lived somewhere else most of my life, and coming to Charming, finding Ope... It all just seemed like it's what was meant to be, all along. I've never really thought much about what career I'd like to have; these next couple years, I'll hopefully find that, I guess. But I have a feeling that no matter what I do, I'll be happy as long as it's with him." Tara smiles; it all seems so... _simple_ for Donna and Opie- God, what she wouldn't give to just be able to stay in Charming with Jackson, forever.

"I love Jackson, too- so much; it's just... medical school is..." Tara lets her head fall back onto the headrest, unable to explain the singular, inexplicable pull that being a doctor has on her, or why she's terrified that staying in Charming and letting that dream die would mean killing a part of her. She looks up to find Donna watching her, carefully.

"You think you guys can make it work from a distance? I mean... San Diego's across the damn state. You'd only get to see Jax on school breaks, probably..."

"I'm only really visiting UCSD because my dad sort of made it a condition of giving me the Cutlass, remember? I mean... he probably doesn't actually give a shit what I do, really, but I felt like I owed him this, at least."

There's a long silence, during which Donna chews her lip and studies the road ahead. Then-

"You think they're really at the bike show?"

_No..._

"I don't know why else they'd have to go all the way up there." And that, Tara guesses, is still the truth.

* * *

Four hours and multiple expletives from Donna regarding the idiot drivers in the LA area later, Tara and Donna have left the freeway- and, subsequently, the hotel- behind in favor of the beach.

"Look- it's got a halfway decent pool!" Tara had mentioned on their way up to the room, at which Donna had scoffed.

"Who needs a pool when there's a _beach_ a few blocks away?" And, although all Tara had wanted to do- after a night spent alternately on top of Jackson and on the hard ground, after a particularly confusing morning and an eight-hour car ride- was flop onto one of the beds and sleep for about sixteen hours, she had allowed Donna to persuade her to don a swimsuit and make the short drive to the local beach.

"God, I don't know how you left here, Tare, I really don't..." Donna's pleasure-soaked voice is half muffled by her towel, and Tara chuckles despite herself.

"We have beaches back home-"

"Yeah, well, unless you want to drive a couple hours to the ocean, all we have are lakes and rivers- both of which always manage to smell like old seaweed and fish. This, though..." Donna pauses, dramatically, inhales deeply before seizing on the one thing Tara misses most about living down here,"It smells like salt, and wind, and... it's just _better_. And so's the scenery." Tara snorts.

"Oh, so you actually took a gander at the ocean, did you? And here I thought you were only at the beach to try and make your back a little less translucent."

"Yeah, well, _you're_ one to talk," Donna retorts. "Only reason you're not burned to a crisp already is because it's after six o'clock and the sun's halfway to the water. _Aaanyway_..." She groans slightly as she raises her head to survey the throng of people that were still sunbathing, swimming, and a host of other things, even as the sun began to set. "When I mentioned the view, I wasn't talking about the _water._"

Chuckling, Tara rests her chin on her towel a moment and watches as one tanned, toned boy in swim trunks after another parades past. She'd been here with her aunt or with friends, before, and had watched as all the equally tanned, curvy blondes had seemed to have the undivided attention of the boys in question. Today, too, everyone seems paired up- happily flirting, frolicking in the water, or draped across someone's lap on the beach itself- and for the first time since she'd left Jackson standing in the parking lot of Teller-Winston, Tara finds a wave of melancholy settling over her.

God, even pissed at him- pissed at SAMCRO- not having him here with her is leaving her with a constant ache in her chest. Not for the first time, Tara's struck with the realization that even though their love- their bond- is what's brought her through the absolute shit show everything had turned into since her mom had gotten sick, it's probably not healthy for a person to have this much of their well-being wrapped up in someone else.

Still, though, is this what it would be like, with her going to school and him patched into some charter somewhere? Would she be constantly scanning the crowd for that too-familiar head of blonde hair and those damnably irresistible blue eyes? Because, like it or not, Tara has to admit that since they'd arrived at the beach, her heart had leapt at least twice when she'd thought she caught a glimpse of him. _God, get it together, Knowles; stop being pathetic and make the most out of this weekend.___  
  
"Hey, Donna?"

"Hmm?" comes Donna's voice, drowsily.

"Let's go back to the room and change- go somewhere, uh, _college_ for dinner; we can't let the guys not being here suck all the fun out of this." One look at Donna's face as she raises her head to smirk, knowingly, at Tara tells her that she'd accidentally revealed just how much Jackson had been on her mind. Still, Donna's a good enough friend not to say so.

'We could even go somewhere they'd never go- like..." Donna's voice falters, evidently unable to come up with a place Jackson and Opie would refuse to go.

"The beach?" Tara watches as her friend's eyes crinkle in amusement before surveying the crowd again.

"Jax, I could see here, though we might have a little trouble getting him to leave those damn white sneakers behind. Ope though..." Donna smiles, fondly, and Tara has to chuckle at the thought of Opie- complete with loose fitting jeans, a wallet chain, and the ever-present kutte- venturing onto the sand. Though that's not fair, really; more than once, as a kid, Mary, Gemma, or Grace had dropped them all off at Charming City Pool for the afternoon, and Ope had been the best swimmer of them all. Still, though, she has to admit that Jackson, with his long blonde hair and dazzling smile, would fit in a bit more seamlessly than Ope ever would, a thought that has her momentarily picturing them here, together... _Son of a bitch..._

"Alright. Why are we talking about the guys, again?" Donna's first response is a noncommittal shrug as she rolls her towel to put it into her beach bag. Then-

"Wasn't me, Tare. Then again, I wasn't the one that made 'em off limits, either." Tara pauses in shaking out her own towel to regard Donna thoughtfully.

"They're not off limits... it's just-" she makes a frustrated sound, giving up and savagely stuffing the towel into the bag, freeing her hands to clap down onto her thighs in exasperation. "This trip is supposed to be about me- about college- but even more so, about the four of us; its supposed to be _fun,_ for Christ's sake. And now all I can do is think about Jackson, talk about him... _fuck_, it's like I can't turn it off."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better,_ I'm_ having fun. And I'll be having even _more_ fun once we're both dressed in something cute and pretending to be college students." Donna grins in her direction, but Tara just groans.

"I didn't even bring anything cute- Christ, all I own are t-shirts and cutoffs anyway. Jax-"

"So? Tonight isn't for him- it's for you and me, babe. We're checkin' out this college shit, right?"

"Right."

"Good. So let me take you out." Donna waggles her eyebrows, and Tara can't help but laugh and don just a bit of the swagger Jackson's known for as they shoulder their beach bags and head towards the parking lot.

"Alright- distract me, Darlin'."

* * *

The campus of UCSD is bustling, even on a summer evening. After tucking the Cutlass safely inside a campus parking garage, Donna and Tara pass gleaming high-rise dorms, a giant boulder-like art piece, and probably the biggest library either had ever seen before heading towards what seems to be a hub of activity. There's a green space full of people sitting on blankets, even in the waning light, and a stage of sorts appears to be under construction at its center. The sidewalks are thick with people milling about in the rapidly cooling twilight, and across the street are a few restaurants nestled between what appear to be classroom spaces. Donna shoots Tara a grin before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the busiest one- a retro-looking pizza joint that's practically overflowing with people; Frankie's, according to the neon sign above the entrance.

"So much for going someplace the guys wouldn't go, Donna." Donna stops dead right outside the entrance and sends her a smirk.

"I know for a fact this crowd's _way_ too preppy for either of them to want to set foot in there. Now, c'mon."_ Fair point._

The music is loud, but the din of conversation louder as they work their way towards the counter, where a perky-looking blonde- fuck, apparently Tara can't escape them today- is taking orders. The wait in the line is blessedly short, and when the blonde eyes Donna and Tara, pen poised above her waitress pad, both give their order almost simultaneously.

"A slice of Margherita, please-"

"- and a soda," Tara finishes, alone.

The blonde rolls her eyes as Tara and Donna dissolve into laughter, but hands each a number and red plastic tumbler and points their way to a soda machine on the back wall. Apparently, they're going to have to work their way past yet another series of booths and tables, plus several couples in the aisle who seem to be unaware that this is a pizza place and not a dance club. _Great._

Grabbing Donna's hand, Tara weaves through the crowd, bumping into a table or two, and is almost at her destination when something brushes her elbow, closing tighter as it trails down her arm to tighten around her wrist. Whirling, she spins to glare at whatever asshole had grabbed her in a crowded restaurant, sending Donna bumping against her side- then freezes as she catches sight of the tanned fingers circling her wrist. The fingers are attached to an equally tan arm, and she follows it upwards to finally rest on familiar, warm brown eyes, nearly hidden by a shock of dark hair. He's speaking- almost before Tara's brain catches up, even as he retains possession of her wrist- and Donna's taking a step back, her expression quizzical.

"I thought that was you- _knew_ it was the moment I saw those Converse." He releases her wrist then, which seems, somehow, to rise on its own volition- draws in closer to her body just in case he's planning to touch her again. "Sorry if I freaked you out, but I didn't think you heard me calling your name with all the noise in here." His friendly smile falters a bit when she doesn't respond, but he slides over in the booth anyway- a large semicircle that also houses another two boys and two girls, though Tara barely sees them as she tries, semi-successfully, to grasp the fact that he's here. Jesus... _she's_ here, _Donna's_ here- and just like that, her past and present seem to be merging.

_Fuck, he's talking again._

"We'll slide over, make room, if you want to chill with us." After no response from her, he continues, uncertainly. "These are my friends- Matt, Jake, Liz and Ashley-" each waves or nods in greeting- "and this is Tara, I went to high school with her," he explains. "Oh, and Tara's friend..." He trails off, expectantly, gesturing at Donna. _Right._

"This is my friend, Donna." Donna, too, nods, shoots Tara an intense look and squeezes her hand, somewhat savagely, as if to ask- Who the hell is this? "Uh, Donna... this is Liam."

Donna's eyes narrow, but Tara has to give her credit- she masks her confused expression with a quick smile and wrests the cup from Tara's hand, only to plunk both cups, plus both table markers down on the table.

"Nice to meet you. Listen... I need to, uh, use the restroom. Mind if we have our pizza delivered here in the meantime? We'll... we'll be right back." She doesn't give Liam- or anyone at the table, for that matter- a chance to respond, just drags Tara by the hand until they're safely in the cramped bathroom at the back of the building.

"Who the hell is _Liam_?" Donna hisses, "I mean, he obviously knows you, but from the way he grabbed your hand, I don't get the feeling he's a _friend_-"

"Christ, Donna, _you_ just grabbed my hand. And he's nobody- just someone I dated for a little while right before I moved back to Charming." Donna snorts, folding her arms, and leans against a stall.

"You really do go for the pretty ones, don't you?" Tara doesn't respond, prompting Donna to continue. "How much did you tell Jax about him?"

"Just that I'd had a boyfriend- if you can call him that- for a little while before my aunt died, and then my dad brought me back to Charming. Not much to tell." And there wasn't- not _really_. They'd attended a couple high school parties together, shared a few kisses- Tara can count them on one hand, actually- and that had been it.

"But it's still awkward." It's a statement more than a question, really, and God, is it a true one. If there's one person Tara had never anticipated running into down here, it's Liam; not because they'd ended badly- they'd never officially ended at all, really- but because she hadn't so much as thought about him since the night Jackson had first kissed her... The night she'd fallen asleep on the shoulder of one boy, then dreamt of another, only to find that he'd somehow morphed, mid-dream- into Jackson; the night she'd finally allowed herself to touch Jackson the way she'd been wanting to since the day she'd returned to Charming, even if it was because she'd initially wanted to make sure he was real and not Liam himself.

Christ, she can't tell Donna all of that- not right now.

"Yep. But it'll be even more awkward the longer we stay in here, right?" Donna just shrugs.

"No idea, Tare- I don't have any ex-boyfriends, remember? All-girls' school?"

"Right. Well... now I feel like we have to sit with them- it'll be worse to go back out there, get our stuff, and sit somewhere else." She sighs. "Do you mind?"

And so, the next hour is spent eating, talking and laughing with Liam and his friends, as well as chipping in for the pitchers of beer nobody seems to be checking ID's for- and Tara's surprised by just how far from awkward it is. The guys are good-natured and quick to laugh, and Tara learns that the three of them had all pledged the same fraternity their first year at UCSD the previous fall. The girls are friendly and warm, and both Tara and Donna are a little surprised to learn that neither is dating any of the three guys- they're all simply a casual group of friends that had met in one of their first-year classes.

Liam asks about her plans for college, and Tara finds herself answering with a measure of ease that hadn't been present between them even during their brief relationship. There's a moment of hesitation when he asks how NorCal had been treating her- because how the hell does a person explain Charming, Jackson, Opie, Gemma, Rick- let alone SAMCRO? But Tara's unable to hide a smile while she tells the story of the two boys- and eventually the pint-sized girl- that had never stopped looking out for her, and how she'd found in them an old best friend, a new one, and a boyfriend.

Donna had just finished mentioning that both their boyfriends rode motorcycles (which was met with amused interest by the entire table) when one of the guys- Matt, she thinks- mentions that it's nearly ten o'clock.

"Shit," Liam mumbles under his breath. Then, to the table at large- "I've gotta go warm up. You guys comin'?" All four of his friends nod their assent, but Tara just raises an eyebrow. "Battle of the Bands sort of thing over in the park across the street- should be a good time. You two in?" Sitting here at the table with the group of them had been one thing, but continuing the evening is something Tara hadn't considered. Donna- who's been looking a little tense ever since Matt had mentioned the time- shoots Tara, then Liam, a nervous smile, her eyes flitting between the two of them before she answers for the both of them.

"Um... maybe? We got somewhere to be in a few minutes, but maybe we could find you later?" _What?_

"Alright. Well, in case we miss each other, I'll give you my phone number- maybe we could meet up tomorrow. If you guys decide to enroll down here, or if you're ever in town, make sure to look me up, okay?" Liam's addressing both of them, really, Tara knows, but his eyes linger on hers just a second longer than necessary. Moments later, when the group takes its leave, it's her hand he presses the scrap of paper with his phone number into- eerily reminiscent of when Jackson had done the same hours ago.

"See you around, Tara. At least I hope to." Releasing her hand for the second time that evening, Liam follows his friends out the door and Tara's struck by the notable absence of a swagger, how his hair- cropped in the back but wavy on top- is the polar opposite of the blonde locks she loves running her fingers through._ Christ, I couldn't have found someone less like him if I'd tried..._

"I'd ask you what's on your mind, but I feel like I already know." Donna says, breaking into her thoughts and sipping the last of her beer from the plastic cup. Tara just groans, burying her face in her hands.

"Do you know why I feel guilty? 'Cause I sure as hell don't."

"Nope," comes the reply, this time muffled by the cup. "Unless it's because both of us forgot to page Jax and Ope and let 'em know we made it down here okay." Fuck._ Fuck,_ that's probably it; suddenly, Liam couldn't be further from her mind.

"Shit, and it's after ten. They're probably worried-"

"It isn't Jax and Ope we need to worry about- Piney and JT are probably a lot more than worried- I bet they're pissed." This time, Tara's groan has someone at the next table turning around to stare, curiously. "C'mon, there's a pay phone up front."

After some fumbling with Jackson's pager number and a few minutes to figure out how, exactly, the whole thing worked- apparently the number to a pay phone is printed on its front- Tara and Donna are left waiting by the phone for a few minutes before it finally rings, drawing a few odd looks from the nearby tables.

"You answer it. I gotta call my mom and dad, too, and I think I can only handle one irritated set of parents tonight." Donna's still gesturing frantically at the handset when Tara picks it up, her breath coming a little more quickly than she'd like to admit.

"H- hello?" Dammit, could you at least try to sound like an adult?

_"Doc?"_ The voice is JT's, and Tara 's unsure if this is a good thing or a bad thing... until she hears what's unmistakably Piney's voice in the background.

_"It _ _better be them girls, and they better be ready to tell us either why in the hell they can't make a goddamn phone call, or why in the hell it took almost twenty hours to drive to goddamn San Diego! Not that these two shitheads shoulda let 'em go alone in the first place. Not with our list of enemies-"_

"It's me, JT. LIsten-"

_"You hear all that, Darlin'?"_

"Yes, and I'm sorry, really. We sort of lost track of time on the beach and then at dinner. We didn't mean to worry anyone-"

_"Well, you did. Piney's been chompin' at the bit to call the hotel to see if you showed, only the boys didn't know which one you'd gone to. Christ, Chibs even suggested callin' the local hospitals to make sure nothin' had happened to ya, but then Bobby pointed out that you could've easily run into trouble along the way. Jax ain't been himself since he heard that, Ope, neither. We were all worried about ya, sweetheart."_

"God, I... I didn't realize..." Tara swallows, thickly, wonders if JT had heard that over the phone, too. "I'm not used to anyone caring where I go, I guess..."

_"Cut it out, Tara,"_ JT's voice is sharp, then, and Tara flinches even as it softens as he continues. "_You __gotta start learnin' that there's a lot of people who love ya, a lot of people who care. Alright?"_

"Yeah, alright."

_"Good. Now, I'm gonna_ _ hand the phone over to Jackson instead of Piney- even though you two probably deserve to hear him rant like the rest of us had to all damn night... "_

JT's voice fades away then, but Tara can still hear Piney's, mingled with many others- until there's some rustling, clearly as the phone's being handed over. Then-

_"Tara?"_

"Hey, baby. I'm s-"

_"Jesus Christ, Babe, I thought I asked you to page me?"_

"I know, and I'm s-"

_"Fuck,"_ Jackson breathes over the line; and suddenly she can just see him, slouched against a wall and running a hand through his hair, his face stony. _"I thought something had happened- my dad had me all nervous about LA, and then when Bobby thought maybe you guys had run into trouble on the road... Fuck, Tara..."_

"I know, baby- well, I don't know what you mean by LA, but I do know how s-"

_"Why didn't you call? Ope and I had all sorts of bullshit to deal with all day, but we still fuckin' managed to keep in touch with SAMCRO, and you and Donna couldn't even-"  
_  
"JESUS CHRIST, JACKSON, WILL YOU AT LEAST LET ME APOLOGIZE?" Evidently, he's stunned into silence by her outburst, but Tara can't manage to feel guilty about it- he'd interrupted her three goddamn times, and all she wants to do is fucking apologize. Donna's staring, wide-eyed and fiddling with the hem of her shirt, as Tara takes a deep breath to try to steady her voice. She hears Jackson do so as well, at about the same time as there's a burst of muffled laughter and shouting in the background... not that she's surprised- freaking Sons of Anarchy and their parties, even while they're on_ important club business_. Still, she'd worried Jackson, Ope, and most of SAMCRO- and if he'll let her, she's going to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Jackson, I really am. Donna and I dropped our shit off and went straight to the beach when we got here, then we changed and grabbed dinner- we just plain forgot." Silence- not that she'd have heard him anyway, as the table behind her erupts into raucous laughter. "Jacks-"

"_Are you at a party?"_ He doesn't give her a chance to answer, just charges on, sounding both wounded and incredulous. _"We've been worried about you all fuckin' day, and you're at a goddamn party?"_

"Jackson, I swear to God if you interrupt me again..."

_"Are you?"_ Jackson's tone- hurt, at first- takes a quick turn towards nasty and she's never wanted to slap him before... but there's a first time for everything. "_If you think I'm gonna ignore the fact that after you conveniently forgot to page me, after you finally manage to pick up a phone, all I can hear in the background is __loud music and a bunch of guys, well..."_

"No! _Jesus_, I'm at a pizza place called Frankie's. With _Donna._ But you're at a party, because everything always has to be a goddamn party with SAMCRO, doesn't it? Just how many _croweaters_ are there, Jackson?" Silence. Tara smirks triumphantly, and Donna gives her an incredulous look. _What the hell is happening?_ She mouths, but Tara just shakes her head- _not now._ "Jax?" He sighs.

_"I'm not tryin' to be an asshole, babe-"_

"Yeah, well, you're succeeding." There's a moment's pause, during which a loud round of shouting and cheers arise on the other end of the line.

_"Alright. Fine. Page me again when you're back at the hotel; you think you can remember this time?" _His voice is short, clipped, like some long-suffering father, and that's how she'd expected Piney and maybe even JT to respond, but not Jackson. Not the one who'd made this whole, stupid, separate-trip thing necessary.

"No problem... _Dad._" _There_. Her voice is dripping with just the right amount of sarcasm, and it's almost satisfying when his response is even shorter than the one before.

_"Fine. Later."_

The phone is hung up savagely, forcing her to draw the phone away from her ear, and Tara slams her end down as well. Worry, she understands; annoyance, sure- but Jackson had spoken to her like she was a child... Worse, like someone he couldn't trust, and once again, Tara finds herself wondering if this bullshit is how things are going to be while Jackson's off on club business and she's at class or pulling twelve-hour shifts at a hospital. _Christ..._

"I take it that didn't go well?"

"Yeah, that's an understatement."

"Did you talk to Ope? Are they okay?" Tara shakes her head and despite her best efforts, Donna's face falls.

"JT isn't too happy with us... Piney less so, but they'll get over it. Jax was too busy bitching at me to give the phone to Opie, Donna, I'm sorry. And then we just..." Tara shrugs, biting her lip, determined not to let the tears threatening at her lower lashes fall.

"Yeah, I heard." Donna releases a slow breath as a crowd of giggling sorority types brushes past them, then seems to steel herself, her eyes hardening. "Alright," she says, determinedly, "you go back to the bathroom and wipe your eyes while I check in with my parents. Then... we're going to a fuckin' concert."

* * *

It's only later, in the relative privacy that is the darkness of their hotel room, that Tara lets the full effects of the day wash over her. She'd woken up nestled atop her love, her safe place, and whether Jackson's willing to admit it or not, that's about the last thing that had been right between them all day; instead of drifting off to sleep in his arms, she's listening to Donna's soft breathing in the bed across the way. There'd been a shift, of sorts; something that had him so tense on his way back to Charming that he could barely focus on the ride- something that had him so overwhelmed, so... _unnerved_, that he'd barely looked her in the eye even as he'd kissed her goodbye. Then, his tangible relief when he'd heard her voice had quickly given way to anger and accusations; he'd thrown his words at her like blades and the disbelief and rage had cut her just like he'd meant it to. His apology- if you could call it that- had been designed to get her to forget his own hypocrisy at being at a party, without her, just when he was accusing her of doing the same.

Tara rolls to her side, the empty space in the bed next to her looming larger and larger, somehow, despite the pile of pillows that reside there. After she'd exited the bathroom following that maddening, teeth-gritting phone call, Donna had practically dragged her across the street to the open space. They'd relaxed and listened to the music- first, Liam's band, then another, and another- until nearly all the tension from the day had ebbed away; and when it was over, they'd walked back to the parking garage, arms linked. There had been no further mention of Liam, no talk of searching for either him or his friends... its like Donna had known exactly what Tara had needed, and for that, she's thankful.

Except, now that she's here, more-or-less alone with her thoughts, bitter scenarios of what could have been- if she didn't love him so goddamn much- echo through her head. It would have been so easy, if she were a different person- if they were a different couple- to seek Liam out, maybe pick up where they'd left off. But she hadn't given Jackson a reason, _ever,_ to think she'd toss away all they have for some meaningless boy- and she'd never wanted to. Tara knows now that he'd undoubtedly be pissed about the fact that she'd been eating pizza and drinking beer with her high school boyfriend, but she'd never risk the bond they have- the undeniable, bone-deep connection she shares with him that she values more than practically anything on earth- over some guy she hasn't thought about in years.

When they'd returned to the room, Tara had immediately paged Jackson- no sense in making things worse. When twenty minutes went by with no response, however, Donna had tried Opie. Five minutes later, Donna was speaking softly into the phone and Tara was feeling like an intruder; needing to go somewhere, _anywhere,_ she'd ducked out, ice bin in hand. She'd stalled as long as possible, wandered the halls of the hotel, filled the bin, sat, leaning against the door, but eventually she'd had to re-enter the room. Her eyes had met Donna's as the door clicked shut behind her and she'd tried to keep the look- whatever it was, she knew it was probably pathetic- off her face but from Donna's expression, she knew she hadn't been successful, Her friend had shot her a sympathetic smile and had hurried on and done what Tara had failed to do for her earlier in the evening.

"Ope, wait... Jax?" There was a long pause- one that seemed to grow longer with each tick of the alarm clock on the shared nightstand- and then Donna had sighed, giving Tara her answer before she'd even spoken. "Okay, baby... Yeah... Love you back. Later."

Thinking of it again, now, Tara's eyes threaten to spill over for a third time; Jackson's _that_ mad at her, that he can't even bear to speak to her. Worse, yet, he's at a party- a _SAMCRO_ party- with what's assuredly a large amount of booze and a larger number of women, eager to claim themselves a Son. Donna had refused to reveal much other than that Opie had told her the phone they were using was located behind the bar, and that Jax didn't feel like saying something he'd regret... but Tara could tell by her hesitance to discuss it at all that the party had still been going strong.

Christ, just the thought of him, angry at her and letting his arms slide around the nearest blonde (in her mind, any of the many she'd found herself surrounded by today could fit the bill)… well, it makes her feel sick just to think about it. Never mind that he's practically been the epitome of the devoted boyfriend- not since he'd failed to push Melissa away their sophomore year has even a glimmer of a doubt entered her mind- never given her reason to believe he'd throw them away over a phone call or a hot blonde with bigger tits and fewer complications... but she tortures herself with the idea anyway.

Finally- thirty agonizing minutes, a hundred tosses and turns, and a thousand tortured thoughts later- Tara gives up and flicks on her side of the nightstand lamp. Its warm glow fills her half of the room and throws Donna's face into sharp relief, but her friend doesn't stir; after waiting a moment to reassure herself that one of them, at least, would be getting some sleep, Tara tosses back the coverlet and pads across the room to search her duffel bag for the only thing she knows has a chance in hell at easing her mind.

As Tara settles back into bed and runs her fingers over the threadbare cover, she can't help thinking that Collected Shorter Poems looks even more care-worn than it had in the candlelight; Christ, had it been just last night that Jackson had read it aloud to her, before and after practically worshiping her body with his own? She pushes the thought away and returns to the book, forces herself to think, instead, about who had owned it before JT, where he'd picked it up- maybe on some long ride at some small town public library. It had obviously been well-loved- there's more than one dog-ear creasing its pages- but when she opens it, there isn't a mark inside the front cover except for Jackson's jagged handwriting.

That, too, Tara strokes with her fingers, as if the words have suddenly taken the form of Jackson himself, and feels a little silly at the lingering ache that's set up residence in her chest after mere hours away from him. Once again, she finds herself having to blink back the tears stinging her eyes; she waits until they've receded, until his words- bold and black against the yellowed paper, stretching across the entire inside cover and spilling onto the first, blank page- come back into focus, and begins to read.

_Tara-_

_I'm writing this as I sit on my bike outside the ice cream shop. Tonight, running a quick errand for the club somehow turned into nearly two hours posted up here, and all I can think of is you. You're back at the clubhouse, waiting for me- God, I hope you're asleep, at least one of us should get a decent night's rest tonight- and I wish more than anything I was there to hold you._

_It took me a while to find you the right birthday gift, but I hope you'll like it (actually, I hope you like Auden, too). His first couple poems are crap but turn to page 46- you'll know it when you see it. Don't get freaked out, I know it's a poem about death, but it made me think of you... hell, I can't ever STOP thinking of you. You're my everything, Tara- like Auden said, my North, my South, my East, my West- and just like the guy in the poem, I'd lose my goddamn mind if I lost you, the best part of me. Because that's what you are; you're a part of me- the best part of my past and my present, and the only one I want in my future._

_Hell, you ARE my future. I know we're only eighteen and I know we have a lot of road ahead of us, Babe, and that none of it's certain... But I've been seeing the destination so clearly for a couple years now, and if there's one thing I know it's that whatever happens, I want you by my side. First, as my girl, and one day (if you'll have me) as my wife. Don't get too worried, I know it can't happen for a long time yet- not until you're a doc and I'm... whatever I'll be- but the point is, it's happening. It has to, because we're just BETTER when we're together._

_I'm running out of room, but I just wanted to write all this in here (even though I'm sure I'll be telling most of it to you later) because it was JT's book and now it's yours... ours. Someday, maybe you'll even pass it down to our kids when we have them- and if that's the case, they need to know how much I love you, too. For now, just read this whenever I can't be with you, and know that I WILL be._

_Soon, Babe._

_Jackson Nathaniel Teller_   
_(6-19-96)_

Tara presses trembling lips to the ink- so bold, so sure, even when she's the opposite- and does her best not to try to reconcile the Jackson that had penned it with the Jax that had refused to talk to her earlier. She tucks the volume under her pillow and reaches to click off the light, her arm brushing a small scrap of paper on the way; it flutters into the crevice between the bed and nightstand and Tara watches it slip out of view and disappear into the darkness. She makes no move to retrieve it, just turns out the light and slides her hand beneath the pillow as if touching Jackson's gift will drag him along with her into her dreams. And somehow, even as she falls into a fitful sleep, she knows that Liam- much like the paper on which he'd written his number- will remain, forgotten, in San Diego where he belongs.

* * *

The drive home- despite her mother's theory- had been interminable, and Tara can't help wondering as Donna finally steers the Cutlass through the Teller-Winston gate if it had been her mixed feelings on returning to Charming (and Jackson) that had made it so. She'd managed to distract herself quite thoroughly most of Sunday, even after sending yet another unanswered page to Jackson; they'd eaten breakfast at a beach café, gone on a whirlwind of a shopping trip, and then done the much-anticipated tour of the UCSD campus... but it was suddenly as if San Diego had somehow lost its luster. Even the excitement she'd felt the day before- at being in the city, on her own, as an adult- had gone, and Donna had squeezed her hand and suggested they head back to Charming shortly after the tour had concluded

In her heart of hearts, Tara knows what a good fit UCSD is for her... and that maybe, under different circumstances, she'd have fallen in love with more than just the idea of following in her mother's footsteps- certainly, the campus and the surrounding area are beautiful. It's just that she'd allowed all this shit between her and Jackson to color her opinion of it, and she knows she hadn't given it a fair shot. Really, she hadn't given_ herself_ a fair shot to fully enjoy the trip and as she spots Opie and Jackson sitting at the picnic tables, the irritation she's felt off and on since the last time she'd seen him re-emerges.

Hell, maybe UCSD is still in the running despite its absolute lack of Sons of Anarchy charters, she thinks as Opie notices them crossing the lot and nudges Jackson... who doesn't move, not one muscle. _He's still that pissed?_ He's sitting at the picnic table, his face buried in his hands, and he doesn't budge- not even when she speaks his name, voice wavering with uncertainty. At this, Opie rises from the table to greet Donna, his face unreadable as ever, and it's only when he turns at the sound of her voice that Tara notices JT sitting at the table next to Jax.

In the darkness, she'd likely have overlooked him completely with his dark hair and jet-black leather kutte... but it isn't only that. It's the way he seems to almost fold in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees and tenting his fingers near his forehead, that makes him somehow smaller than she's ever seen him- face lined with worry even as he sends her a weak smile.

"Hi Darlin', glad you're back." He shifts his gaze to Jax, then, and nudges him gently. "Jackson." No answer. "Son... Tara's here." It's several long seconds before he turns, finally, to face her, and when he does, Tara's heart seems to drop with a thud into her stomach.

His eyes are red-rimmed, cheeks still wet and shining with the telltale evidence of a few tears, but it's the utter desolation in his eyes that has her feet moving, immediately- sending her crouching before him to cradle his beloved face with her palms. She's no more than opened her mouth to ask him what's happening, what's wrong, when he's pitching forward, sliding off the bench to kneel before her and pulling her into him almost roughly; he buries his damp face into her neck and squeezes her so tight she can hardly breathe. A look over his shoulder finds JT's face wrenched with the same emotions Jax is evidently experiencing, and neither speak for a long moment. Then, Gemma's voice cuts through the darkness and suddenly she's there, one arm reaching to sift slender fingers through JT's hair and the other folded protectively around Jax and Tara.

"Call came in a few minutes ago. Maureen and Keith- they never showed at some club function, didn't call neither, so some of the Fresno boys went out lookin'. Found her car off of 180 in some ditch, all smashed up, I guess- they got there right after local PD came across the scene. They think she hit loose gravel and couldn't correct it... probably because of the goddamn hip flask full of whiskey she always has on her." Gemma scoffs, bitterly. "That Irish bitch and her_ booze_-"

"Gem..." JT's voice- while faint- serves to steer Gemma back on track.

"Anyway, we won't know for sure until the toxicology report comes back, I guess. But ain't none of that gonna change the fact that they're both dead..." Tara gasps, despite herself; she'd never known Maureen all that well, except as an interloper- a less than pleasant intruder into the family that JT, Gemma, and Jackson had finally seemed to rebuild- but the thought of Trinity's mother dead, suddenly, is a shocking one.

_Trinity..._ Her eyes fly, once again, to JT's and he shakes his head, silently, as if he knows what Tara isn't saying.

"It was Mo's weekend with Trini, seein' as how we had all that shit with the bike show up north. But they wouldn't let the guys any closer, and when Brewster called me, he said they made 'em leave so they could start takin' the bodies out, wouldn't answer any questions regardin' Trinity unless it was from a legal guardian. But he said-" JT's voice breaks, the first time Tara had ever heard it do so, and he has to clear his throat before proceeding. "He said they weren't sendin' the ambulance, that probably the coroner's van was gonna do it. So, I gotta decide whether to wait for the call or head on down to Fresno myself." A tear escapes the corner of JT's eye, and suddenly Tara's flooded with a voice that seems to be pleading along with him.

_No, no, no... When will it ever end, for this family? This man cannot lose another child... this boy cannot lose another little sibling. ___  
  
And long after JT's decision is made and he's roaring out of the lot; long after Gemma finishes her third cigarette, her hand shaking as she presses a brief, soothing touch to the tops of their heads before retreating into the clubhouse... they stay, twined around one another on the pavement. Jackson draws a ragged breath- his tears wetting the collar of her shirt and his sides shaking- and all Tara can do is squeeze him tighter... unwilling- unable- to let him go.


	11. Ch 11

****I own nothing you recognize****

Everything is black.

Kuttes of supple, ebony leather- all shapes and sizes- stretching across the backs of rider after rider after rider; beneath them, the clothing markedly different from the usual soft blues and plaids- everywhere from charcoal to sable, today. The bikes, lined up in glossy, jet-black pairs, rolling down the desolate highway like some macabre parade with no witnesses but the crows they startle. Even the asphalt's new- unlined, pitch black and greedily soaking up the sun to release later in shimmering waves of heat that seem to fuse with the chrome that's the only relief in sight.

Ahead, a hulking, black silhouette appears, then doubles, taking on life as they near to reveal a pair of dark, sleek hearses, resting in an outcropping that overlooks the obvious scar that's been punched into the growth at the edge of the highway. For a moment, it's almost as if they're living, breathing, vessels- giving their cargo one final opportunity to view the wreckage their last moments had left behind. Jax nearly shivers as he passes, despite the heat of the day, and that almost-prickling, stinging sensation seems to settle into the base of his spine as, silently, the two coaches glide into formation behind him.

As the rocks give way to fields of green, then boxy warehouses, homes, and finally densely packed duplexes, the occasional face appears at the edges of Jax's consciousness- an old man pausing, mail in hand, to stare at the procession; two boys on bicycles- first grinning broadly at the assortment of motorcycles, then pointing, eyes widened, at the hearses that bring up the rear; a tattered looking woman leaning against a wrought iron fence, eyes boring into Jax's own. He's vaguely aware of the pairs of bikes ahead of him beginning to turn, two by two, to pass underneath the scrolled archway, and suddenly the woman is gone, leaving only the black iron barrier around what he now realizes is the cemetery.

Jax's bike, the procession... fucking time just seems to slow, inexplicably, and each black metal bar drags past at a snail's pace, revealing the headstones, the chairs, the group clustered behind them for long seconds in between. It's the women of SAMCRO, of Fresno, of the various other charters who'd come as a show of support... but they're all noise, all background, because there's only one face he sees.

_Tara._

He's reaching out with his mind, trying to seize on the vision of those green eyes, wishing he could ease the troubled thoughts that have the brow above them creasing. Then, another metal bar of the fences passes by, obscures his vision of her for a brief second, and when she's back her eyelids have fluttered closed- all the creases, the tension, the... life in her face, slackened, gone. Another line of the fence and it's as if she's just slipped away, gotten caught up in the sea of swirling black surrounding her- or maybe it's the bars that are sliding past faster and faster... until Jax is moving in real time once again.

Things are normal for mere seconds before their speed- that of his bike, the metal bars, everything else- grows unnatural, his breath coming more and more quickly until he's desperately pulling air into his chest, trying his best to force his lungs to extract the oxygen he needs to focus on the task at hand. The bikes, the funeral... everything fades away as he makes the final turn and passes through the metal gates; everything recedes except the black, which is growing, somehow- closing in on him, and he swears that, behind him, he hears the barred gates clang shut.

It's dark and silent, inside the bars of the cemetery, and it makes no goddamn sense; the day had been bright and hot, and although Jax had long since become accustomed to the roar of many motorcycles splitting through the air, the noise had still been there, in the very lowest part of his consciousness. But now... Now, it's as if everything's been sucked out of the air, or swirled down some ever-widening maw that's opened up in the ground. There's no color, no sound, no light- nothing except for Jax, the dark, and the vertical black lines of the cemetery enclosure.

Somewhere in the distance, a light flicks on, revealing the other side of the fence; suddenly, Jax realizes it isn't a fence anymore, at all, but a wall- a wall of bars, and he's on the wrong fucking side of them. It's the wrong side because the light's on the opposite, pouring in from a small doorway that's almost instantly filled by a short, stately woman he's never seen before. Not that it would matter, much; the light behind her throws her face into darkness as well, and even if it had been familiar and beloved, he wouldn't have been able to view it anyway. She barely looks at him, just stands there examining a sheaf of papers before heaving a sigh.

"Who are you?" Jax fairly shouts, pacing his confines like a caged animal- and that's what he is. He's an animal in this moment, but he doesn't fucking care, just wants to know who, or what, has put him here, and how the fuck he's getting out. "I need to get the fuck outta here, my family needs me! _Don't you get that?_"

And it's_ true_\- he's not sure what happened to the funeral, why he doesn't remember it, why he doesn't remember getting here; but he's suddenly aware that _here_ is a cell, and that his captor is talking in a low voice.

"The funeral's today, Mr. Teller; scheduled to start a few minutes ago actually." As if to confirm this, she raises her wrist to tap at her watch, still refusing to look at him.

"You don't think I know that? That's why they need me! My family. You gotta take me back to the cemetery-"

She ignores his shouting, the way he's stalking angrily near the bars, and continues in that same, matter-of-fact tone that makes him want to wrench the metal apart, spread it wide with his bare hands, and rush her- let the rage his father's infamous for become his own. He wouldn't even waste time on the woman, though, really- he's got to get past her, get to the cemetery, stand in his place with his brothers and behind his parents. He can't say why he's so desperate to watch them buried- they'd not been a large part of his life up until now- but the urge, the need, to be there is almost choking him.

"It's too bad, really. You'd have thought they'd have waited for you, but I guess once the body was returned by the coroner, they just wanted it done." She pauses a moment, shuffles the papers, and removes a large glossy photo he can't quite make out in the darkness- turns it this way and that before shaking her head, sadly. "Bad as the scene was, I guess I can understand why they wouldn't have wanted you to see it again."

"The hell are you talking about, lady? I never saw the goddamn-" Again, she's talking over him, talking through him, unflinchingly- almost as if he's not screaming his lungs out in the same tiny room.

"You need to tell us what you know, Mr. Teller. Because if this is some sort of complicated plot to win your freedom, to eliminate a threat, I guarantee you I will end you... and your club. She didn't deserve this... not _her_."

"What the fuck do you think I know about some car accident? What _plot?!_" Jax runs his hands through his hair in frustration, then slams them into the bars... but the woman doesn't react to either. The pain he'd expected to shoot through his hands, through his wrists, is absent, too; it's like he exists in some sort of vacuum, where everything is happening to him and he's unable – willing, desperately, but unable- to affect any of it. Really, though, he doesn't care what he can do, what he can change... he just needs to be there. Just needs to get to the cemetery, just needs to see her, and then he'll figure out where to go from there.

"Whether you were involved or not, know this; I _will_ make sure there's justice, and I won't stop until I have it. _Until she has it._" The woman scoffs, bitterly. "Not your vigilante, biker justice, but the _real_ kind- the only kind that will put an end to all of this ugliness. If you're a smart man, Mr. Teller, when you get out of here you'll keep yourself in check; they're burying Tara today, and if you're not careful, they'll be burying you, too."

The silence after she's finished is deafening- roaring in his ears, shifting until it surrounds him and then he's the one roaring, desperate to get her to understand.

"The fuck are you talking about? Not Tara, _Maureen!_ Maureen! It's Maureen! _Not Tara!_ _Not her!_" He loses track of how many times he screams them at her, the names she's confused so blatantly, until he's no longer sure which one he's shouting, either. Then, for the first time, her head snaps around to look at him directly, and the name he's about to emit dies in his throat.

_"Tara."_

_No, Maureen,_ he wants to shout, but he can't make himself say it, no longer sure; slowly growing aware of the source behind the pull, the utter, animal drive he has in him to get out and run, ride, fuckin'_ fly_ to the cemetery.

"_Tara."_

And he's not sure if the voice is the woman's or his own now, just knows that they're the only thing between him and what he wants- needs like it's his last breath of air- the woman and the metal bars, and he'll beat his fists to a bloody pulp to get through the both of them... to get to Tara. Suddenly, the knowledge of why he's here- what the woman had been convinced he'd already known- hits him like a shotgun blast to the chest and he's sliding against the bars and slumping to the floor, just like he would had she actually fucking shot him.

His Tara's going into the ground today... forever; and knowing he'll miss it, that he'll never see her again- not even the fucking box they'd chosen for her, never touch her or kiss her ever again… it's too much. He screams himself hoarse, pulls at the bars, uselessly, watches the blood drip down his knuckles and onto the cement, mixing with the salt of the tears that are falling, too, forming a tiny puddle he'd rather drown in than go on without her.

_"Jackson, it's over."_

Cool fingers are on his arm- had the woman come into the cell with him? Someone had turned on the fuckin' lights- all of them- and he's almost afraid to open his eyes, to see what fresh hell would be before him, but then her voice comes again, clear and reassuring.

_"Jackson?"_

It's then that he realizes her fingers are threaded through his and he's sitting, no longer crumpled on the floor. Her touch comes again, a light, tender stroking that produces a familiar, pleasant prickling sensation that's only ever come from-

"Tara?" Jax fairly croaks- the pain in his throat gone the moment he opens his eyes to find her large green ones peering back at him, concerned. He's in the cemetery, sitting in the front row- though pretty much everyone else is already standing. Jax feels no urgency to do so- both disoriented as all hell and unsure his legs will even hold him upright, owing to the fact that his knees had so recently buckled... hadn't they? Then, the waves of relief wash over him, dizzying in their intensity, and Tara makes a small noise that has him turning frantically to her, searching desperately for the source of her discomfort.

"Jax... your hand." Quickly, he glances downward, fully expecting to have to hide the evidence of his rage from her- the split knuckles, the blood, the grime from the concrete floor of the cell- only to see that his hands are nearly pristine, one fisting the material of his black jeans, the other clenched so tightly around Tara's delicate fingers that it's shaking. _Christ,_ he's practically crushing her... Jax has to force himself to loosen his grip, running his thumb over hers in apology even as her face crumples in concern.

"What's wrong? Well, besides the funeral, I mean. You just... _weren't here_ for a while." Softly, she strokes his arm, and her healing gaze seems to caress his tattered psyche even as she asks him the one question he knows he can't answer- not for her, not now... maybe not ever.

_"Where did you go?"_

* * *

The after-party back at the Fresno clubhouse isn't much of a party- not that Jax had expected that, anyway. Maureen had only been an Old Lady, and not all that friendly with the patched members, while Keith was a recent transplant from Belfast and the Fresno Sons had been a little wary, still. Further, the continuing troubles plaguing Belfast had prevented even Maureen's own brother from attending the memorial, reducing the ranks present that had known either very well to only the First Nine… and Jax realizes, suddenly, that the First Nine now only consists of JT and Piney, plus Lenny and Otto who are doing time- everyone else is fuckin' dead, So, it's after only one toast that he finds himself in one of a pair of faded armchairs tucked in a back corner, clutching a beer and wishing it was a bottle of Jack.

Jax watches as Sons with all manner of patches mill about, sipping beers and trading stories, and its quite a while before he's able to relax into the chair, realizing that today, at least, there will be no hazing, no shouts of Prospect!, no bullshit slave duty to perform... and it's a load off his mind even as he takes on a whole new one- namely, whatever the fuck had happened to him during the bulk of the funeral. Sighing, he runs a hand down his face and slumps further into the chair to take measure of what he can remember.

He remembers the funeral procession's ride in- at least most of it- it's somewhere around the edge of the cemetery where things get dicey; some woman had been staring him down, he remembers catching a glimpse of Tara. and that they were just outside the cemetery, but what he'd been doing, physically, is just a giant blank space in his afternoon. It's been replaced by what's now, hands down, the most awful collection of minutes of his life.

Losing Tommy had been awful, hearing the secondhand news about Trinity blurted out by Tig of all people, horrendous- nearly losing his father, he thinks he's still recovering from, a bit... But those had been situations where others around him had been affected in the same way and he'd been able to direct his external emotions accordingly- usually to stay focused, stay strong for everyone else, or share his grief with them.

Today, though... he'd felt so helpless, so utterly useless in that cell, had been so goddamn broken in that moment that that nothing short of death- that of whoever had taken Tara from him, his own, he didn't much care- would do. There had been no one there to hear him scream, no one to care- unless you counted the faceless woman, but even she didn't seem to hear him.

Thank fuck nobody had seemed to notice the entire twenty minutes or so he'd been inside his own head, because Jax can't even begin to imagine what would have happened to him if they had. Sons aren't weak- Sons don't need head shrinkers, or doctors, or coddling to solve their own problems... and Jax is pretty sure that having a complete fucking out-of-body experience- complete with the inability to recall actually parking his bike at the cemetery, walking to the gravesite, or sitting down- would be enough to force any half-competent shrink to issue him a one-way ticket to the looney bin. At the very least, none of his brothers would ever trust him again, and he and Ope had just begun to establish their case for full membership in SAMCRO.

Jax downs the rest of his beer in a few swallows- wishing instantly that he had another- but he's not willing to leave his perch or risk conversation with any of his brothers to get it. In fact, he hasn't felt much like talking to anyone in over a week, now- an occurrence he's certain has everything to do with the Oregon trip. After the pure clusterfuck the run up to Rogue River had turned into, then the abject horror he'd felt when he'd realized what had been at stake, immediately followed by the news of the accident that necessitated today's funeral, well... He's not altogether sure what he'd say if anyone asked him how he's doing with all this- his first real club business- though he's fairly sure he's not handling any of it well. Completely losing his shit and breaking down in front of Gemma, JT, and Tara had been bad enough, but doing so in full view of the club would have been a different story. And coupled with whatever the fuck had happened today, well... he'd never get his top rocker.

And just what the fuck had happened today? What _was_ that? But almost as soon as the question fully forms in his mind, Jax is assaulted by memories of other visions he's had since Tara had returned, though none had been this vivid, so physically real. All had been, he'd believed, some version of his future, and all had involved Tara; they're one reason he's always felt so confident telling her he wants a future with her, planning the future with her- he'd seen it for himself already.

He'd happily reveled in fleeting visions of Tara becoming his wife in ten different ways, round with his child- a boy one time, girls the next- on the back of his bike with a crow inked prominently into her skin... He'd mostly pushed away glimpses of himself alone and miserable without her, of her finding happiness with some other doctor asshole somewhere in San Diego, of himself cruising the streets of some far-off snowy city he'd heard she'd wound up in, craving a glimpse of her so he can reassure himself she's alright. However, he'd all but blocked out that vision of her gravestone, of the silver wedding ring resting atop it... until now.

If those had been glimpses of his possible futures, how can this be anything else? And what the fuck is he supposed to do about it? The woman had mentioned something about a plot for his own freedom, but he'd never hurt Tara. Never. She'd also seemed to suspect the club... but they'd never lay a finger on an innocent woman, either, so that leaves some enemy of the club, which he'd believed to be dwindling in number by the day- at least until the Rogue River incident. That, coupled with the near-cripplng worry he'd experienced when he'd thought something had happened to her on her way to San Diego, well… Christ, he's not sure he'll ever rest easy when he's away from her, especially not now. And that's yet another weakness he's not sure how to handle, and a fear he's not sure he has it in his power to combat.

"Beer for your thoughts?"

Jax starts, nearly dropping his empty bottle in the process, and JT tosses him a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes before handing him a bottle of beer and settling into the other chair.

"You've only had the one so far, I've noticed." At Jax's questioning look, JT nods at the bottle in his hands, the growing pile of shredded label at his feet. "I've been watchin' you over here- chewin' stuff up, spittin' it back out- for almost thirty minutes now, and it took you nearly all of that to even realize you were holdin' that bottle." JT leans back in the chair, props a worn boot on his other leg, and gestures at Jax with his own half-empty bottle. "Make that your last one, alright, Son? We're rollin' out in an hour or so." Jax just nods, trying- unsuccessfully- to clear the fog the last few hours have left him in.

"Yup," is about all he can manage, prompting his father to regard him thoughtfully

"You okay, Son?" Jax tries, halfheartedly, to look perplexed at JT's question, but his father merely clarifies, gesturing at the room at large with his empty bottle. "With Rogue River... with all of this shit."

"M'fine," is all he trusts himself to say before he's spilling his every concern, his every fear to his father. He knows JT would never steer him wrong, knows he cares about the both of them- he and Tara- with everything in him... but in the end, the desire to prove himself, to show his club President he can handle business like a man, to shutter away the part of himself he fears might be losing his shit, wins out.

'You know..." JT leans forward, dangling the bottle from long fingers, "every single damn one of us remembers what it's like goin' through that first real struggle with the club. You need to work some shit through, you know you can-"

"Thanks, Dad, but I got to be able to handle this shit, you know?"

"Handlin' it don't mean you gotta do it alone." He pauses a moment, regards Jax, silently, but his next words are halted as Brewster approaches, resting a firm hand on JT's shoulder and leaning close.

"Girls are back."

"Thanks, brother," JT murmurs, a slow smile curling his lips for probably the first time today, and Jax watches as the one person that can make him forget walks through the door... followed by probably the only other person besides her who can make him crack a smile despite this whole shitty mess. His father's voice comes again as they watch Brewster point out their location.

"Talk to her, Son; tell her what you can- you know what shit's kosher and what isn't. You don't want to unload on Ope or one of us, you tell Tara, alright?"

Then, his father's entire demeanor changes- he leans forward in the chair and the smile broadens, softens the edge of pain that had been present in his eyes for days, now, just a little bit more.

"Hey, Darlin'."

"H'lo, Da."

* * *

_They were all filthy- sweaty and covered with road grime; spent, both from the complete shit show the weekend up at Rogue River had turned out to be and from the ride itself. Still, Son after Son filed wearily into the Chapel to take stock of the issues at hand; Jax shot Opie a look, thankful, for once, to be on the outside. It was a hell of a lot easier to brood about Tara- and at least make an attempt to figure out just how in the hell he was going to apologize for being such a dick- while everyone else was occupied and in Church. Except, of course, that he hadn't managed to do that the entire ride back._

_Groaning, he flopped into a chair, eager to let a few swigs of Jack and maybe a joint take the edges off; Ope was halfway into lowering himself into another when the phone rang behind the bar._

_"Jesus Christ, really?" Opie grumbled, heaving himself back up._

_"Oh no, Prospect.. allow me, won't you?" Tig's voice, syrupy sweet and blisteringly sarcastic, echoed around the empty clubhouse as he grabbed the phone, ignoring Opie's sigh to bark into the receiver. "House of Beauty, this is Cutie."_

_"You good, Son?" JT appeared next to them, removing his riding gloves, and dropped his kutte on the table to shrug out of his shoulder holster before slipping the kutte back on. Jax made a noncommittal noise as his father performed the ritual he'd been watching since he was a kid too young to know what it meant._

_"'Ay, Boss..." Tig's voice broke through the relative silence of the clubhouse from behind the bar. "Brewster's on the bar line for ya." Tig waggled the phone in JT's general direction, then set it on the bartop to rummage through the fridge behind the bar. Sighing, JT went, turning to point at Jax and Opie on his way._

_"You two make sure the gate's unlocked so Donna can pull onto the lot, and then you tell 'em I think it's best they stay here tonight. We need to make sure our Irish friends were really just motivated to close up our business, and I'm gonna need to reach out to Belfast to do that. Your ma's on her way, and once everyone's here, lock up, alright?"_

_"Got it."_

_"And make sure the bays and the office are secured, too, will ya?"_

_"Sure thing... _Boss._" Jax let his own sarcasm creep in and JT cuffed him on the shoulder before heading towards the bar and the phone._

_Gemma was already on the lot when they exited the clubhouse, and she nearly dropped the cigarette she was in the process of lighting to rush to his side._

_"Welcome home, baby," she whispered into Jax's shoulder, clutching him tight for a moment before drawing back to search for any traces of injury. Evidently finding none, she rested a palm on his cheek and released a shuddering breath before letting it slide down to his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're alright." Then, to Opie- "You too, sweetheart. You okay?" Ope just smirked, raising his arms as if to prove himself relatively free of road rash and bullet holes._

_"I'm fine, Mom." Satisfied, apparently, that both boys were whole, Gemma turned her attention back to Jax, shaking her head._

_"I don't know whether to be proud or pissed off, Jackson-"_

_"It was just a bike show, Ma-" She smacked him one on the chest, shutting him up before he could repeat the same story he'd given Tara just a day before._

_"I've been around this club far too long to believe that line. And besides... you don't think your father and I discuss just what the hell is going on around here?" Gemma's eyes hardened, sending a chill through Jax as she stepped back to light her cigarette. "Where _is_ your father? I got a couple things to say to him about sendin' you two boys into that mess, unprepared."_

_"Gem!" Tig's voice split the air for the second time that night, and the clubhouse door slammed behind him as he half-jogged across the lot, moving more quickly than Jax had ever seen. "Ah, shit, Gem..." his eyes raked over Jax and Opie, seemingly hesitant to speak to Gemma in front of them, but in a flash it was gone and he was tossing an arm over her shoulders to lead her, gently, towards the clubhouse. "JT needs ya, Doll. Just had the Fresno Pres call over- I guess Keith and Mo were in some sort of accident." Gemma shot him a look._

_"And just why would you think I'd give a shit if that Irish bitch fell off the back of a goddamn bike, Tiggy?" Tig shook his head, exasperated._

_"Cause she's _dead,_ Gem. Went off the side of the road, musta overcorrected and rolled her damn cage. Both of 'em are gone." Gemma stopped dead in her tracks, and Jax felt his breaths grow shallow, as if he couldn't suck in enough oxygen to form a coherent thought. Dead. Maureen's dead. Dead, dead, dead... the word echoed in his head, growing louder and louder until he realized Tig had continued._

_"That ain't all. JT's on the bar line tryin' to reach the Fresno County Sheriff. Fresno Sons, they uh... well, the cops won't let 'em near the scene, said they need a parent to show up and ID her or some shit." A parent? As far as Jax knew, Maureen's parents were long dead... and besides, what sense did it make for a twenty something year old woman to-_

Oh.

_The realization hit Jax like a blow to the head. Not Maureen. _Trinity._ Trinity's the one that needed identifying, his sweet little sister that called him Jackson so seriously, drew him motorcycles to decorate his work station, and teased him about Tara. Trinity, who'd somehow weaseled her way into even Gemma's heart, who'd brought them all together when she could have just as easily torn them apart. Trinity, who'd made him a big brother once again..._

_His stomach rolled at the prospect of losing yet another younger sibling, at the thought of all the things she'd never experience. Ahead, JT burst out of the clubhouse, the door banging shut behind him, and Jax _knew._ Knew Tig wasn't lying, hadn't misheard. Knew from the look on his father's face that it had happened again, and all that was left was to sink down onto the picnic table and let the darkness overtake him._

_She's dead. And all of a sudden, the bars are closing in again, the voice in his head taunting him over, and over, and over. She's dead. They're _all_ dead, Mr. Teller- Trinity, Maureen, Tara. You failed them, failed them all..._

Jax's body jerks, sucking in a breath that has oxygen rushing into him so fast he sees stars behind his eyelids for a millisecond before he opens them.

It takes him a moment to adjust to his surroundings, to realize that he's in the apartment and not at the picnic table or in some jail cell. Ever since his complete mind-fuck of a vision at the funeral a couple weeks ago, he's been plagued by this same dream- though he'd hoped it would become less frequent by now. The very real events leading up to Trinity's supposed disappearance and assumed death meld, somehow, with that of her mother. Then would come the sickening realization he'd come to in the godforsaken cell in his vision- that Tara was dead, that he'd been locked up for her funeral- and it always, always ended the same way; the woman would taunt him with his failures and he'd suddenly be on his bike, her voice driving him to speed faster and faster until...

Jax shudders- no point in reliving it now, especially since he'd been given respite, had woken partway through before the truly terrifying shit started. He closes his eyes, briefly, reminds himself for the hundredth time that Trinity's just fine, that she'd been assumed to be thrown from the vehicle with her mother and stepfather- prompting a shitload of heartache and panic... However, JT had arrived to find her already at the Fresno clubhouse accompanied by an Old Lady on the verge of hysterics at having dropped off the face of the fucking earth until she was located with her daughter and Trinity at the local movie theater. Not that he's been able to bring himself to spend much time at Gemma's to be with her- even now that she's there full-time...

And as for Tara... Jax rolls over to push down the fear and panic the best way he knows how- by tucking her into his side to feel her heartbeat, her warmth, reassuring himself that she's still his, still here...

Except, she _isn't._ His hand clutches the cold sheet instead of her warm, soft skin, ratcheting his heart rate back into the danger zone, and he checks the nightstand clock. Fuck, it's well past three o'clock and she's gone… but where? _Why?_ Breath coming rapidly, he practically hurdles out of bed to check the door- unlocked- and the en suite- empty. His mind rushes, wildly, to scenarios that run the gamut from her leaving him in the middle of the night to move to San Diego- which he disproves almost immediately by opening a dresser drawer to find all her clothing still in place- to a gang of kidnappers with the biggest fucking balls on Earth, breaking into the SAMCRO clubhouse and stealing his girl from under his nose.

Oblivious to just how ridiculous that is, Jax bursts out of the apartment- clad only in his boxers- and into the silent hallway; the clubhouse itself is dark and quiet, all vestiges of the earlier party gone except for some remaining bottles and a few scattered croweaters and Sons passed out on the couch and pool table. Tara's obviously not amongst them, but she's not on a side chair, at the bar, or sitting at one of the tables, either. Pushing away the obvious- that Tara knows it's basically off limits, and has never really expressed the desire to hang out in here anyway- he even gives the Chapel a once-over before pausing just outside the door to rake his hands through his hair and think.

_The Cutlass._ He's filled with a rush of guilt at the thought of it- he'd really meant to teach her how to drive, it's just that there hadn't been time, really, with all of this club shit… but at the same time, he's having trouble imagining his Tara- ever the rule-follower- actually throwing caution to the wind and driving off alone, inexperienced, and illegal. Still, the idea has him stalking towards the clubhouse door to see if her car is still out there.

The lot, too, is dark and practically deserted; the row of bikes remains, undisturbed and silent. The Cutlass sits where it's been since the San Diego trip, and before he knows it, Jax is jogging across the lot to peer inside. Empty. He slumps against the door, a lump growing in his throat; where the fuck could she be? Then, the breeze picks up and one of the motion-sensor lights kicks on… and there she is.

Illuminated by the cold, white, floodlight, Tara's slumped over some large book or other, head resting on an arm, pages fluttering in the breeze. As Jax nears, he smiles a bit, the dread and panic finally receding; only Tara would walk in her pajamas through a room full of drunken Sons to come out here and study, of all things. He's plagued by another rush of guilt, then- she had said something about an important lab tomorrow, asked him to go with her to their willow tree or at least drop her off at the library- but he'd found himself unwilling to pass up spending time with her and unable to disappear on the club… so he'd coaxed her into returning to the clubhouse with him.

Tara had been reluctant to join the party at all, but had agreeably finished a beer before excusing herself to the apartment to study and Jax had stumbled in to join her, a little- okay, a lot- tipsy, much, much later. Satisfied with just being in her presence, he'd undressed and stretched out across the bed- his head in her lap alongside her book, her fingers threading through his hair- and had fallen asleep almost instantly, content. He isn't sure when, exactly, she'd given up trying to study in what had admittedly been an unusually rowdy clubhouse, but evidently she'd come out here to try and find some peace and quiet.

He looks at her again- really looks at her- and his breath catches. God, she's beautiful. Even in the harsh light, even with her face pressed into her arm, she still takes his breath away- and he'd never been one to take the phrase literally. Shakily, Jax lowers himself onto the bench next to her and brushes a tendril of hair away from her lips, only now remembering he hadn't bothered to dress before coming outside; when she doesn't stir, he gently cups her chin.

"Tara."

That produces only a faint smile, and Jax can't help the one that spreads across his own lips in return. Arriving at a sudden decision, he stands- tucks one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back- and lifts her, gently, from the picnic table. All the way across the lot, he carries her- the small pieces of gravel lodged in the asphalt significantly more noticeable on his bare feet this time- and on into the clubhouse.

Tara barely stirs even when he places her onto the bed, dropping a brief kiss on her forehead before crossing the room to lock the door. Then, he slides under the covers and against her side, curling around her and breathing normally for the first time since he'd woken up. One… two… three slow, deep breaths, warm against the curve of her neck, before his heart rate evens out and he feels… Christ, he doesn't know what he feels, really. Normal ain't it, that's for goddamn sure- normal people don't black out in the middle of the day and come to a half hour later. Safe… Jesus, he hasn't felt safe since Rogue River- not really.

_Talk to her, Son,_ JT had said the day of Maureen's funeral- the day his brain had taken a solid left turn into the fucked-up. _Tell her what you can._ Jax sighs, knowing that he can't tell her everything- not even when she's asleep- but something's gotta give. Something's got to ease this vice grip he's felt around his heart for weeks, now… so he releases a steady breath, closes his eyes, and talks- mumbles the words into her skin so softly the vibrations in his ears nearly drown them out.

"I love you so much, Babe. I… fuck, Tara, I don't even know what to do with it anymore. I know I promised to keep you safe; that's part of our deal, isn't it? You're the healer, I'm the protector… Well, I guess I'm hopin' you can sorta heal me now, even though I got no idea how good of a protector I am- not when it comes to the real shit.

"I mean it when I say I'll always love and protect you, Tara- I mean it with all my heart. But now that I know more of what SAMCRO's into, what they're tryin' to get away from… I don't know how I do that. And it's fuckin' with me, Babe- knowin' I might not always be here for you; Mo, that family up in Oregon, both of 'em coulda been you just as easily, and it's got me losin' my goddamn mind. All I see when I dream anymore is you, and you're always in danger, or hurt, or killed, and the only thing that helps is you, bein' here. So that brings us back to our deal, Babe. The one where we each got something the other needs. I need you, ain't no question about it. And I'll do anything- everything- to try to hold up my end."

Jax pauses, listens to Tara's deep breaths, pulls her even closer so that their fingers are twined together over her heart. His heart; if the last weeks had taught him anything, it's that she is his heart, and that he's not completely rational when she's away from him… But that's what SAMCRO is- long rides, the freedom of the road, and near-constant separations from the one you love- and if Rogue River had been any indication, being away from her could put her at risk. Really, there's just no getting around it, and that's the thought that's had the nightmares and the visions coming. He realizes, heart sinking, that there's also nothing he can do about either except keep her as close as possible.

And as Jax's mind continues turning over and over even though his body is still, he revels in Tara's soft warmth, matches his breaths with her own, and only then begins to drift off into a troubled sleep. His nose is buried in her hair, his forehead pressed against her skull, and while her soft sigh registers, somewhere, in his drowsy brain- enough to make the edges of his mouth curl in satisfaction- Tara's eyes, clear and shining in the dark, do not.

* * *

The porn studio is buzzing with activity, even though most of the working world is on lunch right about now; Jax supposes the lifestyle lived by porn stars and those that surround them isn't really conducive to early mornings. From the parade of half-dressed women and the occasional bronzed male that's been streaming into the warehouse door for the last half-hour, he's able to guess that apparently, work starts at noon.

Jax raises an eyebrow at Opie as the latest batch- two girls in matching, silky robes that barely cover their ass cheeks and heavy hollowed-out, heroin-chic makeup- hurry across the lot towards the door. One barely gives them the time of day, but the other- a thin brunette that somehow resembles Tara while looking nothing like her at the same time- moues her burgundy painted lips and sends him a sultry wink.

"Get your ass movin', sweetheart! Call was at twelve, and we're not holdin' everything up for you again today!" Jax is quickly forgotten as the girl scurries inside and Luann appears in front of their bikes- hands on her hips, exasperated. "Jesus Christ, it ain't bad enough the club's lettin' Otto rot over in County-"

"Da- uh, JT said to let you know the judge still hasn't set bail- looks like he's gonna wait every one of those ninety days-"

"I didn't ask why, Jackson. Anyway, now they're sendin' kids to protect my thousands of dollars worth of new camera equipment?"

"We're eighteen, Luann. Almost nineteen."

"Kids. Hell, you're prospects, which is even worse." Luann looks like she wants to say more, but gives Jax and Opie the once-over instead. "But you two bein' here instead of Tiggy or Bobby could be a good thing. Girls'll be a lot more, uh, comfortable with a couple of young guys." She winks at Jax, chucks him under the chin. "It's like I like to tell your Ma every time she gets under my skin- cute thing like you could do well in the business, so you keep me in mind if you ever decide you're done bein' an outlaw, okay?"

Speechless, Jax can only redden and work his jaw as Ope snickers in the background- until Luann finally takes pity on him and rolls her eyes, patting him on the cheek.

"Don't be such a prude, I only say that shit 'cause Gem hates it." Winking, much as the porn star had, earlier, Luann turns and sidles towards the door, tossing her last remarks at them over her shoulder. "Make sure you stick around until they're all done unloadin' the new equipment… and stay out here will ya? I was jokin' around' before, but I really don't want Gem comin' down here to lay into me because her baby boy is watchin' a damn porno film."

With that, Luann disappears through the doors and Opie practically falls off his bike, shaking with laughter.

"Fuck off…" Jax says, though it lacks bite. "We're only here because you wanted to be, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Ope says, finally, wiping his eyes. "I'm here because Otto's my sponsor and I feel like I should be doin' somethin' to help his Old Lady. You're here because you owe me for tunin' up Tara's Cutlass; and you can't really complain, neither, because from the sounds of it you got another career opportunity… Fabio." Crossing his arms, Jax waits until Ope stops snickering at his newest joke before responding.

"Well, this delivery was supposed to be here an hour ago, so-"

"Quit your bitchin', you're at a porn studio for Christ's sake. You ain't been yourself for weeks now, anyway. You wanna tell me what's up, or are you gonna keep actin' like an old woman?"

"Well, first of all, I'm outside the studio, not in it-" Ope rolls his eyes. "Second of all, I'm only stayin' out here because I'm pretty sure both Gemma and Tara would have a shitfit if we were in there spectating- and I'm assuming you're aware that Donna would be the same fuckin' way." Jax snorts as his friend's face blanches. "Don't worry, we don't need to tell 'em."

"But you do got somethin' to tell me, I know you better than you think I do. It must be club shit, too, because otherwise, you'd have told Tara." Ope eyes him, knowingly, and Jax just sighs.

"I told her some- well, sort of. You remember how I told you I woke up last night and she wasn't there? And then I found her out in the lot at the picnic table?" Opie nods, lighting a cigarette and settling back onto the seat of his bike. "After I took her back to bed, I got some of it off my chest. Nothin' specific, but it's the shit that's been keepin' me up at night. Givin' me nightmares and shit, too, which is why I woke up in the first place." Ope exhales, glancing- almost too casually- at Jax.

"Nightmares about what?" Jax sighs, searching for something safe to tell his best friend- because he sure as shit can't tell him everything.

"Just… somethin' bad happenin'- to Trinity, sometimes, but mostly Tara. Somethin' I failed to protect 'em from. Shit like that." Seemingly satisfied with this answer, Opie takes another thoughtful drag.

"This got anything to do with all that shit up in Oregon?"

"What the hell do _you_ think, Ope? JT's been workin' at gettin' us out of guns ever since before Clay died; we might not have known all the details, but we knew there were things goin' on. And then the first real shit we hear about any of it is that we need to pick up some cash because lives are at stake up in Oregon?" Opie just nods- fingers stroking his beard, eyes distant.

"That shit was crazy, bro-"

"No, Ope. Not just crazy. The Irish… they're the ones who are fuckin' crazy. Guys JT's dealt with, been friendly with, ever since they first made the deal back in the 80's, and suddenly they're so desperate for cash they're holdin' women and children hostage?"

"They weren't-"

"They _were_," Jax says, firmly, silencing Opie's protest. "We mighta showed up to what looked like a party, but you know as well as I do that the Rogue River Pres's family bein' holed up back in that room with that Cameron asshole… well, they weren't back there playin' Monopoly."

"I ain't stupid, Jax. But you gotta calm down for a minute and think about this; the club had obviously promised the Irish all that money to close things up way before we ever knew about it- and the only reason we even know this shit is because they were forced to fill us in after the whole Otto mess. But JT's fuckin' pissed at Cameron, and from the sounds of it, whoever he called in Belfast wasn't too happy about the way shit went down, either. The shit didn't go to plan- the guy freaked when he thought he wasn't gonna be able to get the money to his bosses, and he went off the fuckin' rails."

"That's an understatement, man. If you'd have seen those girls…" Jax shudders at the memory of heading back to take a leak only to glimpse Cameron, quickly shuttling the two girls and their mother- at gunpoint- across the hall to the bedroom. They'd all been crying, and the look on the face of the youngest- the pleading in her eyes, the too-familiar strawberry blonde hair, the way Jax had stopped dead in his tracks as they'd disappeared into the bedroom and out of his grasp… It hadn't been until that moment that he'd truly understood what had been at stake, truly understood the predicament JT had been in when he'd called Jax and Opie to bring the money up north as quickly as possible; Belfast had been unreachable due to the time difference and the actual fuckin' riots and near-war going on, and SAMCRO had no way of knowing whether Cameron's actions were on the orders of the Irish Kings or not.

"Point is, it was a mess; the guy didn't get his cash and went rogue, and he fucked himself over in the process. I'm betting once he gets back to Belfast there'll be some serious hell to pay. But it's done, man- even though nobody's said so because we're back outta the loop now. That had to be the money to make up for the last shipment of guns SAMCRO didn't run. The Sons and the IRA… we're over. For good."

Jax exhales, slowly, focusing on the gauges on his bike. If only SAMCRO and his father were as easy to read as his Dyna; he knows there's good reason prospects are never told everything, but his mind's been caught up in a hellish back and forth ever since this whole thing had started. Picking up Otto's cash, the long ride up to Rogue River… the whole thing had been hours of checking his six, gut roiling, not sure if he was more terrified there'd be a cop or an IRA member at his back. That had been nothing compared to the sheer elation he'd felt at handing his father the package, the fuckin' rush he'd gotten from completing his first job- the shots, the backslaps, the handshakes, the grim approval from every Son in the room...

And just as quickly, he'd spied the Rogue River President's family held at gunpoint by someone the club trusted- realized that Tara and Donna hadn't been heard from for hours- and the two parts of him were suddenly at war. The man that was planning his future with his girl, waiting for her to become a doctor, his wife, his everything- versus the man that had just ridden six hundred miles with hidden cash in his backpack to give to some psycho who had just put a gun to a little girl's head and pay off a foreign terrorist organization… and gotten a fuckin' thrill from it. The realization that neither of those two men would have been able to stop Cameron from doing the same thing in the SAMCRO clubhouse, threatening _his_ family the next time, well… it makes him want to hurl.

Short of that, he's been in some sort of fucked-up limbo ever since; unable to bring himself to look Trinity in the eye since she'd lost her mom and wound up at Gemma's full-time, unable to be the big brother he knows she needs right now. Worse, he knows his inner turmoil is slowly chipping away at the protective wall he'd built around himself and Tara- and if he can't get his shit together, it's only a matter of time before it crumbles completely and the spiral of uncertainty and fear he's found himself in starts spilling in.

"I know what you're thinkin', Jax."

Opie's voice is low- calm, even- but his eyes are fiercer than Jax has ever seen them.

"You're scared the same shit'll happen to Gemma, or Trinity, or Tara. And I get that- I do. Trust me, bro… I think all the time about how I'm gonna be able to sleep at night on runs, with Donna back here, alone."

You do? Ope nods, as if he's heard Jax's unspoken question.

"And I keep comin' back to one thing. You and I, we're the sons of two men that have made it through 'Nam, through the eighties when shit was really bad, through the beginning of the nineties when things were worse, the Mayan War, the Irish… and we're just as strong as they are. We gotta trust JT and Piney- that they got us out of all this shit with the Irish, finally, that they're gonna keep the families of SAMCRO safe and away from danger. We gotta trust ourselves that we can do the same for our girls; between us, our dads, our brothers… we got this."

For the first time in weeks, Jax feels the knot around his throat loosening just a bit, the oxygen traveling just a little deeper into his lungs. He clears his throat, glances at Opie out of the corner of his eye only to find him tilting his pack of cigarettes his way.

"Go on, take one and light up before this shit gets any sappier." Jax snorts but does as asked, taking a moment to light up before checking his watch again.

"So where the fuck is this camera equipment?"

* * *

"...and then I'll go ahead and knot the stitch right… t_here_." Small hands seem to flash over the neat line of sutures, guiding the instruments around and around the final stitch until, finally, the thread is knotted and cut free. Inspecting her work, Doctor Carlson gives her patient- a yellow lab- another thorough once-over before stripping the latex gloves from her hands and turning to her assistant. "Can you finish cleaning up Tucker here, and I'll go see if his parents are out in the waiting room?" The assistant nods as the doctor gestures at Tara, hovering in a near corner. "C'mon, you can drop his file off at the front desk and help me talk to the Johannsens."

Smiling, as if they're sharing some secret, Tara trails after the petite brunette towards the front of the clinic; shit, she feels like she _has_ been let in a secret- she'd never anticipated the near-exhilaration she'd felt the first time she'd been allowed to observe a surgical procedure.

It had been a tumor removal on a golden retriever, and as Doctor Carlson had closed up, she'd allowed herself a small, satisfied smile before looking up to find Tara's smile matching her own. It was an odd moment in which to realize she'd found the first of many mentors she'll probably have throughout what Tara hopes is a long career- but just that little moment the doctor had taken for herself to express satisfaction and pleasure in her job, even after a few years and hundreds of patients, had Tara's heart lifting. Hell, she'd expected the novelty to wear off eventually, but even weeks later watching the veterinarian identify a problem, tackle it head-on and actually fix it with sure, steady hands… It's almost freeing, and certainly a feeling Tara wants for herself.

They weave through the darkened back hallway and towards the front; the clinic itself had been a residential home at one point, some sort of weird mishmash between a Victorian and a Craftsman that had resulted in colorful gingerbread trim and a columned porch coexisting peacefully. The garage had long since been converted into the procedure room, with most of the downstairs serving as animal housing and exam/consult rooms. The upstairs is a series of rooms populated by a sea of overflowing boxes and- funnily enough- the kitchen, and it's there that Tara has spent more than one lunch hour poring over her biology textbook.

As expected, the Johansens, a retired couple whose faces are lined with age and- today- worry, are waiting out front. What had been the living areas of the original home had been combined into a rather large reception and waiting area lined with comfortable chairs, and both Johansens spring to their feet at the sight of Doctor Carlson. Tara drops the patient file into the appropriate basket for Lena, the receptionist, then watches as the doctor approaches the patient's family.

"Tucker is fine," the doctor reassures, getting right to the heart of the matter. "I was able to remove the blockage fairly easily, and the incisions should heal nicely. We'll start him on his antibiotics and an acid reducer to help him heal more quickly, right away, and I'll write you a script when he's ready to be picked up. We'll give you a call sometime tomorrow when he's feeling better, and hopefully, he won't feel the need to eat any more socks." The Johansens are hanging on the young vet's every word, their anxiety melting away as she calmly and quietly explains the next steps. When the couple's on their way out the door, clutching a pamphlet on aftercare for gastrointestinal surgery and leaving them alone in the waiting room, Tara chuckles, prompting the doctor to send an amused glance her way.

"What is it?" Tara shrugs in response.

"You're just so… good. With animals, with surgeries, with people… I think my biggest fear is becoming a doctor someday, being really good at what I do, and then all my patients and families hate me because I'm just so…" Tara's voice trails off, and she pauses, uncertain how to describe herself, really.

"Reserved? Because you are, in new situations- I could tell that from the first day you were here. Cautious? For sure." Doctor Carlson's face blooms into a wicked smile, brown eyes flashing with mischief and making her look even younger. "But I've also seen your boyfriend pick you up a time or two, and there's no way you're always the reserved, polite, cautious student you are here- not around him. Would I be wrong?"

"N- no," Tara stammers, blushing a bit. No, she sure as hell isn't shy or reserved when it comes to Jax… though the rest of SAMCRO- and Gemma- may be a different story.

"Ah, I thought so. A guy like that, he tends to steal the spotlight, doesn't he? And I'm sure his friends and family, well… they aren't shrinking violets either." Tara nods, frowning a bit. What is she getting at? Absently, the doctor straightens a stack of magazines on the table, shoves a chair back into its rightful place before turning to regard Tara fully.

"That's your angle, then. Take the person you are around him, around them- the one who's sure of herself and outgoing because she has to be- and you find a way to marry that with your inner doctor, the side of you that's careful, thorough, clinical. And as for being good at what I do… I've had a few years of school and a couple in private practice to figure it all out. You'll get there, Tara." The doctor's smile reappears. "Just try not to worry so much in the meantime, okay?"

Tara nods again, smiling; it's nice to be talked to as an equal- as if its a foregone conclusion she'd make it, truly be a doctor someday. It's probably the thing she likes most about being here, besides getting to observe actual surgeries- belonging, even if it's in theory only.

"We're done with procedures until the two-o'clock, if you wanted to have one of the girls show you how to set up a surgical tray. Until then, there's only a checkup."

"It's Wednesday, I have class," Tara replies, apologetically, "But I can finish putting away these files for you before I go."

"That's right-" the young doctor presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "I swear, I lose track of the days sometimes. Ever since I took the place over last year, I feel like I've been here twenty-four seven; when it's not down here at the clinic, I'm upstairs clearing boxes of all of Doctor Clark's old files out of the hallway." Doctor Carlson snorts, shaking her head, her dark ponytail swishing against the collar of her lab coat. "I hear he was a great doc, but his record-keeping was stuck in the dark ages. He has patient records going back to the fifties stacked in the garage apartment."

"I didn't know there was an apartment over the garage..."

"Yep. Studio- just a bedroom, a kitchenette and a bathroom. From the looks of it, it's been storage since the late eighties, but everything works just fine and there's even a private stairwell in the back. I've been thinking about renting it out, whenever I finally get the time to sort through all the junk up there."

"Well, maybe I could help out some time- the summer's almost over and I'll have a little bit of a break before fall classes start." At this, Doctor Carlson shakes her head, slowly.

"Oh, Tara, I don't want to take up any more of your summer; you'll have enough on your plate once classes start as it is-"

"I don't mind, really. My boyfriend…" Tara pauses, unsure how much Doctor Carlson knows about SAMCRO, and doubly uncertain of what she's comfortable revealing about Jax himself. "Well, he's been really busy lately. With… work. So, we haven't been able to spend a lot of time together even when I'm not here or at class, and once class is over, I think I'll welcome something to keep me busy."

It's the truth, Tara realizes, as Doctor Carlson excuses herself to prep an exam room for the next patient; Jax has been somehow both distant and clingy since the funeral, alternating long bouts of silence where he chews his lower lip and frowns almost as if he's in physical pain with nights where his kisses feel almost desperate, as if he's seeking solace that can only be found within her body.

In fact, her birthday is the last time things had truly been right between them; that night of slow, passionate lovemaking- punctuated by Jax's breathy murmurs of love and Auden's timeless words- had been the last time they'd been truly alone together outside the clubhouse, and certainly the last time they hadn't had… _this_… looming between them.

Any plans for a heart-to-heart about their argument about the San Diego trip had died before they'd even taken shape the moment Tara had arrived on the lot to find Jax, broken over the loss of yet another younger sibling. The hours and days that had followed hadn't lent themselves to relationship chats either, and then it seemed as if the funeral had broken him more than the initial news.

Rather than look weak, Tara surmises, Jax had elected to throw himself into club responsibilities, resulting in later and later nights where she's already asleep by the time he slides under the sheets behind her. Sometimes, he reaches for her- telling her how much he loves her on every shuddering breath, gripping her hips and claiming her mouth hungrily, almost desperately- until they're both spent, and he's asleep before the sweat dries from his brow. Other nights, she lies, half-awake, as he presses his forehead to the nape of her neck and seems to try to control his breathing, match it to hers, one slow breath after the other until they're both drifting off again, together.

Last night had been neither- Jax had been fairly relaxed, thanks to the alcohol, by the time he'd finally come to bed, but Tara hadn't found sleep nearly as easily; the music and laughter echoing into the apartment had made it nearly impossible to study and she'd pretty much ruled out sleep by the time it was nearly two. She'd stolen through the main room of the clubhouse, all but unnoticed by the passed-out Sons scattered throughout the room and the few that remained at the bar. Ironically enough, though, she can't remember a thing she'd read at the picnic table outside- the exhaustion had overcome her almost immediately.

She'd awoken to Jax's occasional soft kisses against her forehead and her legs bumping along the back hallway as he carried her to bed. Her first thought after he'd laid her down so gently, then curled up behind her, had been to reach for him, turn in his arms so they could lose themselves in each other- the only times they'd felt right, whole, for weeks. But something had her hesitating, waiting to see how this would play out, and she'd been rewarded with the confession he'd never meant to make- at least not while she was awake- murmured against her skin.

And so, Tara finds herself torn- between the man who's so determined, so dedicated to protecting her, and the man who's so fearful something might happen that he can barely look at her. It's as if Jax can't decide on a daily basis which of those men he is; as a result, until last night she'd been left to wonder what she'd done wrong, why he was pulling away from her. Not that having the knowledge that something was going on- something with SAMCRO that had actually endangered families- is much better.

Sighing, Tara feels the familiar irritation at being out of the loop once again; only, this time, it's about her safety, and the fact that Jax doesn't trust her enough to tell her about any of it, even when it involves her. Instead, he'd rather throw himself into club business and then play hot and cold with her, with zero explanation as to why. It's only the fact that he seems so conflicted- yet somehow even more loving, more dedicated than ever before- that's stopped her from losing her shit and asking him just how old he thinks she is.

"Tara? You're still here?"

Doctor Carlson's voice breaks into Tara's thoughts and she's suddenly aware she's sitting behind the receptionist's desk, still holding the Johansen's file, just as she had been minutes ago when the doctor had left the room.

"Sorry… I was just thinking-"

"It isn't that- Lena can finish the files when she's back from lunch. But doesn't your class start, uh... " she checks her watch "-in about fifteen minutes?" _Shit. Shit, shit, shit…_ It isn't even at CCC, but out at the pond, today… and Jax still isn't here to take her. _What the fuck?_ How the hell is she going to make it all the way across town in that amount of time, on foot?

Panic is just beginning to set in when a familiar sound fills the air- a motorcycle roaring through the relatively quiet streets- and Tara feels the relief flood through her, though it's tinted, now, with anger. Not only is he distant, secretive, and practically fucking not there at all, even when he's around, but now he's going to start making her late, too? Especially since he still hadn't made time to teach her to drive and she's forced to rely on he and Donna to get around...

Then, the bike pulls up in front of the clinic, and Tara realizes isn't Jax at all who's swinging his leg over the seat and jogging up the walk, but… Kozik? Had something happened to Jax? Her worry is only increased when Kozik fairly bursts through the door, a little breathless, and merely glances at the doctor before addressing Tara directly.

"Hey, Doc." Doctor Carlson- the actual doc in the room- smirks at both of them as Kozik continues. "Jax is, uh, held up- he called over to T-W to see if someone could give you a lift, and I had a few minutes free." _How noble of him_, Tara wants to reply, wants to push her worry to the back of her mind and replace it with bitter sarcasm… but it isn't Kozik's fault Jax didn't show.

"Oh… okay," is all she manages, before she can't help blurting out exactly what's been on her mind since she'd realized someone else had been sent to pick her up. "Is… is he okay?"

"He's fine, just waiting over at Luann's for some equipment." She reads between the lines. Luann's- the porn studio; he'd failed to pick her up, as promised, because he's at a porn studio. Disgust curls in Tara's stomach, and although she wants to grill Kozik, get all the dirty details about why Jax is there, what he's really doing… it isn't a conversation to have in front of Doctor Carlson, who's watching them, curiously.

"Okay, let me just go get my backpack from the back room." Kozik nods, smiling awkwardly at them both.

"Sorry, ma'am… I'm Kozik- uh, Tara's friend." Apparently amused at being called ma'am by a biker who looks every bit her own age, Doctor Carlson smiles as she extends her hand. Kozik stares at it a moment- as if he's not sure whether he's meant to touch it- then seems to make a sudden, flustered decision, picking it up and bending his head to lay a brief kiss on her knuckles much as he had the first time he'd met Tara herself.

Instantly, both Kozik and Doctor Carlson flinch, as if burned, and Tara can almost see the moment when Kozik realizes what he's just done. Now this is interesting...

"Shit, I'm sorry… Uh…" He's blushing furiously and rubbing a hand down his face by the time the doctor answers, and all of a sudden, Tara can't take the awkward silence anymore- shit, she might just start laughing or blushing herself if she doesn't get out of here, soon.

"Angela," comes Doctor Carlson's response as Tara heads towards the back, and the further away from them she gets, the further that little exchange is from her mind; the harder she has to try not to start tallying up the many, many reasons she fucking hates prospecting. The late nights, the missed trips, the increasing danger, moody Jax, silent Jax, _absent_ Jax…

_Dammit, Knowles._

Even before she reaches the waiting room again, it's decided. This shit between them- wherever it comes from, whatever it means- it's not going to affect her performance at school or at this internship. Not now, not ever. And if Jax has a problem- especially if it's one he refuses to share with her- he's going to have to figure out how to address it before it completely tears them apart.


	12. Ch 12

****I own nothing you recognize****

Saturday.

The day had meant a lot of things to Tara over the years- so many, in fact, that it almost feels like she'd already lived multiple lives, been a few different people by the age of eighteen.

Her mother had worked alternating weekends at St. Thomas, and as such, she remembers waking every other Saturday morning as the Tara who was snuggled awake in Grace's arms, then led downstairs to the sunny kitchen where she'd ultimately find eggs, or toast, or maybe even chocolate chip pancakes already on the table. Grace would pepper her with questions about the school week- since a weekend off meant that she'd been working late the night before- while Rick would read the Saturday ads and sip coffee, occasionally smiling up at them both.

This Tara would rush upstairs to get dressed, then eagerly pull the insert out of the paper and watch as her mother circled addresses for local yard sales or maybe even a weekend movie in the park, and then they'd be off, with Rick agreeing to handle the breakfast dishes. The morning would be spent wandering through other people's yards and musty garages, shelling out nickels and dimes for trinkets to store in the cedar strongbox under her bed or maybe a baseball card or two, the cardboard still stiff enough when shoved into the spokes of her bike wheels to make it sound satisfyingly like a motorcycle.

The opposite Saturdays always began with Tara shuffling sleepily downstairs to search for the sugary cereal her father kept hidden in the back of the pantry, then munching away in front of Saturday morning cartoons while Rick brewed coffee and immersed himself in some household project or other. At some point late morning, either Jackson's blond head or Harry's dark one- but usually both- would appear at the kitchen door, calling for Tara to hurry up; then, Saturday was filled with sweaty bike rides, untied Converse, and dusty scuffles until the streetlights came on.

Until Grace was too sick to work or make pancakes- too weak to go traipsing through the neighborhood yards and parks; after that, Saturdays meant long mornings of quiet conversation, soft touches on paper-thin skin, weary smiles from Grace and contemplative looks from Rick when the boys would come calling. Towards the end, even Jackson and Harry were shut out on Saturday afternoons, and the entire house would become silent, somber, as if preparing Tara's mother for the grave she'd soon inhabit.

Those first days after her mother's death had been an endless fog of condolences, Gunsmoke on TV, and of course the ever-growing pile of plastic whiskey bottles she'd tried, even then, to ignore building up next to her father's chair. She hadn't been expected to attend school, hadn't been given opportunity to see a friend in days, and Tara had eventually retreated to her room, forgotten- Mondays blurring into Tuesdays, fading into days she no longer bothered to keep track of. She'd only learn, years later, that Jackson and Harry had knocked at the door every day, to no avail, but that hadn't mattered to the motherless girl, shut in her own lilac prison, forgotten. Nothing mattered… until her father, drunk on whiskey and high on prescription pills, destroyed a good portion of the house in a fit of rage.

Suddenly, it seemed like _everyone_ remembered the nine year old girl with the dead mom and the drunk daddy, and that had been the last weekend she'd spent in her father's house for nearly seven years. San Diego had brought friends back into her life, and along with them the occasional sleepover and weekend activity; once she'd returned to Charming, Jackson and Opie- and eventually Donna- had helped fill her time with love and friendship, long rides and short hot fucks, shared joints and shared clothes and shared laughter…

And now… Tara sighs.

_Now_, she's spending Saturdays at the damn clubhouse while Donna works and Jax and Opie do God knows what for the club. Alone. Well, that's not true, she supposes; sometimes, there's the odd croweater or two wandering towards the exit and into the late morning sun. Sometimes, whichever Son is on Saturday morning at the garage will shuffle back into the clubhouse for a little hair of the dog to cure his hangover, or spend his lunch break catching a much-needed catnap on the cracked leather sofa.

Mostly, though, the place is a ghost town until well after lunch when everyone either wakes from the previous night's party or returns from whatever business SAMCRO had that morning, leaving Tara to drift around the empty clubhouse like a ship without sails or rudders. On the bright side, the past few Saturday mornings had at least been conducive to studying, though now that summer classes are over, that point is moot. Hell, not even Gemma usually shows up until late afternoon on the weekends- although lately, since Trinity's in Charming full time now, both JT and Gemma have been spending a good deal of time at home with her.

Trinity… She'd been raised a club kid just as Jax had, but as a girl, well… the more Tara thinks about it, the more Trinity's got in common with her, too- simultaneously in the thick of the club, but living on the fringes of the decisions made by others. Like Tara, the girl's been witness to both sides of the Sons of Anarchy- the way the rough group of men could trade uppercuts in the ring or shouts in the clubhouse one minute, and rally behind a brother the next. According to JT, she'd lived in a pleasant apartment above a little shop in Belfast, but borne witness to her mother patching up countless Sons, IRA refugees, and businessmen that had been drawn into the dark underside of the Troubles the city's currently crumbling underneath. She'd even lost a parent at a young age, something nobody understands better than Tara.

Tara unsuccessfully suppresses the flash of guilt that abruptly ripples through her at the realization that she'd not spent much time with Trinity since that awful day at the funeral- and that most of that had been in the midst of gathering the girl's few possessions from the little house Maureen and Keith had been renting to pack into the back of Gemma's Caddy. Trinity had always seemed to like her- though her outright affection for the older brother she'd only known for a matter of months had been far more obvious- and again, the parallels between the two of them emerge; the infuriating distance of a certain tall blonde boy, both physical and emotional, and the resulting isolation she knows both herself and Trinity must share.

Tara pushes thoughts of Jax away, having learned over the quickly waning summer that dwelling too much on his whereabouts only leads to frustration. Rather than face another Saturday morning at the clubhouse, alone, she'd rolled back over hoping to drift back into unconsciousness only to find that sleep was just as elusive asher boyfriend has been, lately. And now, she slips on her most favorite sleep shorts- a pair of boxers she'd stolen from Jackson way back after the first night he'd spent with her in her room- and rolls out of bed, determined to make something of the day. She'll call Gemma, get out of the clubhouse for a while before she loses her damn mind, and spend a little time with Trinity in the process.

Barefoot and trying not to think about why the hell the clubhouse floor seems to be just a little sticky, Tara surveys the main room- empty save for a hangaround sprawled awkwardly across the couch and a girl with startlingly red hair draped over him- before tiptoeing behind the bar to pick up the phone. She dials the Teller home and waits- realizing, suddenly, that she'd hardly had reason to call there since she was a kid.

Her first days back here had been almost exclusively spent with Jackson and Opie and since their reconnection they'd spent every moment possible together, building a routine where- even when her father had been playing at being a parent and had insisted on her presence under his roof- Jax would leave her house, ride on home and then immediately call her when he got there. And yet, somehow, the number is drilled into her memory, just another fact she knows- multiplication tables, the six noble gases, and the Teller's phone number.

_"Yeah,"_ Gemma's voice crackles through the line and into Tara's thoughts._ Christ_, she even answers the phone like a club member- like someone merely tolerating the fact that the person on the other end has interrupted important business, intruding on her day for some reason unknown to her.

"Gemma? It's me." There's a long pause, as if Gemma's trying to place her voice. Then-

_"Jackson ain't here, sweetheart. The boys had that protection run for Unser this morning, remember?"_ Ignoring- for now- the fact that Gemma, at least, seems to be in the know about the club's wherabouts and is operating under the assumption that Tara, too, has been filled in, she presses forward.

"I, uh… I'm not calling for Jackson."_ No shit, Knowles, get to the point._ "I guess I was hoping to reach you."

_"Me?" _Gemma makes no effort to mask the surprise in her voice; despite the ease of their recent interactions at the clubhouse and even during the funeral itself, the amount of time Tara had spent alone in Gemma's presence had been pretty much nonexistent over the summer. The key she'd received on her birthday- the one to the Teller home Gemma had proclaimed could be used whenever Tara wanted a reprieve from the clubhouse, the one that had prompted Tara to hug her, fiercely, just for acknowledging that she'd even_ need_ an escape from all that was SAMCRO- had gone unused… Likely because, moments later, it had occurred to Tara that just as much as anyone else in the clubhouse that day- and maybe even more so- Gemma _was _SAMCRO.

And so, an escape to her home hadn't seemed like much of an escape at all. Until, of course, all Tara's days began to run together, a seamless muddy landscape of days at school, nights in the clubhouse and Jax's fleeting presence- his face a constant, mildly reassuring mask Tara can no longer peek behind. Suddenly, even Gemma, a woman who had admittedly tried her best to step in as a mother figure since Tara's return- regardless of her true intentions- is a welcome alternative to freaking _nobody._

"I was hoping you and Trinity would be around today? I haven't seen her in a while, and I thought maybe..." Tara's voice trails off, unsure what, exactly, she's proposing they do- she's never had a sister before. Gemma sighs.

_"She's havin' a hard time, baby, off and on- like you'd expect, I guess. Though with JT and Jackson bein' so busy lately, I was thinkin' you'da been here sooner; girl could use another friendly face." _There's a bit of an edge to her voice and Tara can't help feeling a little defensive.

"Well, I can't exactly drive over there, Gemma. And Jax, well… he hasn't been himself since-"

_"You mean he hasn't taken you out driving yet? Jesus Christ…"_ Gemma interrupts, focusing- as always- on the least important part of what Tara's just said.

"Once; but lately, he hasn't been around during the day long enough to-"

_"I'm headed over to Mary's," _Gemma continues, seemingly unaware Tara had even begun speaking, cutting her off a third time in so many sentences. _"Evidently, word of all of this shit finally made its way there and someone's gotta talk her out of showin' up in Charming and killin' Piney herself. I was gonna take Trinity with me, but if you don't mind watchin' her for the afternoon-"  
_  
"Works for me," Tara breaks in, unable to resist giving Gemma a taste of her own medicine, not bothering to address the fact that while word of _this shit _had somehow found Mary all the way over in Moreno, Tara's still mostly in the dark right here in the goddamn clubhouse.

"_Good girl. I'll be at the garage in an hour, make sure you're ready."_  
  
There's a click as Gemma hangs up, leaving Tara to stare at the phone; apparently, their conversation is over, and it's been ended in true Gemma fashion. Shaking her head, Tara replaces the receiver and drifts towards the kitchen, anxious to get some caffeine in her system and raid the stash of junky cereal she'd hidden from the guys- a true throwback to Saturdays in her past life. When Bobby's not around to supply the occasional baked good, Chibs and Tig can finish a jumbo sized box in a sitting.

Rounding the corner, she stops short- a blonde sporting nothing but boy short panties and a strappy tank top is already standing in front of the coffee pot, swirling the gritty sediment around in the bottom of the glass carafe. Tara rolls her eyes; _croweaters_\- just another Saturday morning with SAMCRO.

"Excuse me..." Tara's voice, though soft, startles the girl and she nearly drops the pot in the process of whirling around, one hand at her chest; the surprise on her face slowly morphs into a smirk as her eyes sweep up and down, examining Tara as if she's some sort of strange bug that's intruded into the SAMCRO kitchen. "Uh, I just need to get into that cabinet back there…" Not bothering to hide her calculating gaze, the blonde steps aside for a moment so that Tara can pluck a mug from the drainer and retrieve her hidden box of Fruity Pebbles from behind a dusty carton of Malt O Meal.

"You're Tara, aren't you." It isn't a question, although the blonde raises an eyebrow momentarily as the coffee begins to perk and the aroma begins to permeate the are of the cramped kitchen. Tara nods, returning the question with one of her own- though she doesn't particularly care.

"And you are…" _Does it matter, really?_ The blonde hitches a shoulder, even as she reaches for her own mug.

"Emily, to you." _Yeah, and probably Darlin' to everyone else around this place... _Unabashedly assessing Tara, Emily clicks her tongue, the mug dangling from a manicured finger. "Been a while since anyone asked me that, I suppose...but I've been here off and on over the past couple years- long enough to know who_ you_ are." Glossing over the fact that the two of them had probably encountered each other at party after party and Tara still hadn't a clue as to her name, the blonde's expression morphs into blatant curiosity as her eyes land on Tara's choice of sleep shorts. "Guess you really _did _get into the Prince's boxers when no one else could, huh?"

"I guess so," is all Tara can say, grateful her hands are full and preventing her from picking at the seam of the boxers in question. _God, this is the slowest coffee maker ever... _She's not really in the mood to discuss either her sex life or whatever had- or hadn't- happened between this girl (or anyone else, for that matter) and Jackson.

"So tell me… how is he?"

_And there it is._

A small smile curls the edges of the blonde's lips as she leans into the counter, settling in for the dirty details Tara's not about to give her- especially since the girl had just been perched on Tig's lap the night before, from what she can remember. Tara's eyes flicker to the coffee pot, considering the coffee that's dripping ever slower; by her calculations it's mere seconds before she can get the fuck out of here.

"Um…" _Christ, just say something, Knowles- saying nothing's probably worse. _"Is there a reason you're asking?" Her cheeks are practically radiating heat, and she knows without looking that the flush has begun to spread on down her chest, mottling it in that way that only copious amounts of alcohol or sheer self-consciousness can achieve.

"Oh, honey, if you think there isn't a woman in this clubhouse hasn't wondered at least a time or two about what Jax Teller's workin' with, and_ how_ he's workin' it… you're delusional. Especially now that he isn't jailbait-"

"I don't give a _shit_ what they're wondering," Tara bites- almost before she can stop herself- and plunks her cereal down onto the countertop to reach for the carafe, yanking it from under the stream of coffee and leaving the last several drips to fall directly on the hot plate. The blonde jumps back as it sizzles, boiling up into small explosions and marring the stainless steel counter with tiny brown droplets.

"Jesus," the girl spits, brushing at an imaginary fleck of coffee on her tank top. Tara neither notices nor cares, just focuses on regaining a note of relative calm in her voice- steadying her hand that's gripping the pot and filling her cup- so she can end this.

"Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart," she says sweetly- despite the fact that this croweater has a good five or six years on her- replacing the carafe and taking a slow sip. "Make sure you clean up when you're done, and keep it hot- Gemma and the boys don't like it cold." Without pausing to assess the girl's reaction or listen to whatever response she's sure is forthcoming, Tara sends a smirk her way, then quickly tucks the cereal under her arm and slips out the door and down the back hallway, the guilt chasing after her.

_God… _why had she been such a bitch? It isn't unusual for people to actually talk about sex- hell, she's almost sure the guys do it all the damn time- especially in this place, where half of the sex probably takes place in the partially dark corners of the main room. Besides, what makes her think she's better than any of the other girls that frequent the clubhouse- especially since they can come and go as they please, and she, Tara, is fairly well a kept woman- a pet- only released from her quarters in the back when someone has time in their busy schedule to give her a lift…

Tara shakes her head as she unlocks the apartment door, clearing it of the poisonous thoughts that had been filtering in. She'd never doubted Jackson's love for her, and doesn't now; and that's what sets her- _them_\- apart from most everyone else. Plus, this girl isn't a friend wanting to share secrets with a girlfriend, wasn't even on a first name basis with her before just now… when she'd implied that she and most of the others in the clubhouse had spent time imagining sex with the love of Tara's life. That right there should be erasing any doubt she has about the relatively mild- especially by Gemma standards- things she'd just said to the croweater. And yet, here she is, second guessing herself. Sighing, Tara rests the coffee cup on the desk and chews absently on a thumbnail for a moment before sliding the boxers down her legs.

Besides the obvious- Jackson's absences, the croweaters, the way the noise and the crowds in the place are so starkly juxtaposed with the silence and isolation- the thing that bothers her the most about living in the clubhouse is just how unsure of herself she feels, here. Unsure of how to handle the near-constant competition for her boyfriend's attention- whether it's the club, the women, or even Gemma; unsure of what, exactly, her place is amongst the women of SAMCRO- the croweaters, the lovers, the old ladies. Unsure, even, of how to act around Opie, Gemma, JT… and if she's being honest, Jackson himself; this, even though they've been part of her life since she was a kid.

Outside the clubhouse, she's Jackson's girlfriend; Gemma's just her boyfriend's mother, JT his father, Opie both of their best friend, and she can be the Tara that doesn't take shit from anyone, the Tara that's driven, determined, strong. Within it, though, she doesn't know _what _she is, and this whole matriarch/ President/ Prospect/ club brother dynamic is growing more and more uncertain on the best of days and downright dizzying on the worst.

Even at school or the vet clinic, there's this lingering feeling that she's playing at being an adult- that someone could swoop in at any moment and ask her who the hell she thinks she is, what the hell she's doing here; Doctor Carlson makes her feel like she belongs, like becoming a doctor herself is a reality, but those moments are interspersed with others, moments in which she can't help but feel like an imposter.

With Jackson, though, she's different. Everything else- SAMCRO, school, expectations pulling them this way and that- is nothing but noise; when they're together, somewhere they can truly be alone, truly connect, it's as if all the noise doesn't matter. Those times, however, are becoming fewer and further between, despite his attempts to bury himself in her, nights- and she's pretty sure it's because he's burying himself in the club by day.

By day, he's the epitome of what Tara imagines a Prospect and a Son-_ the _Son- should be: devoted to the club, eager to learn, completing even the most asinine tasks without telling Tig, Bobby, or Piney to go fuck themselves. In fact, it's only because she knows him so well, knows his tells, that she can sense when he's annoyed or displeased with the slight tick of his jaw or the hardening of his gaze. The guys, however, are none the wiser and with the way he's been throwing himself into club business, the general consensus seems to be that JT's son is proving himself.

By night, though- when he finally rolls into bed and wraps himself around her- he's briefly her Jackson again, instead of _Jax Fuckin' Teller_. And even then, things aren't quite right; the sex is no less passionate, but it's taken on a hint of frantic desparation Tara doesn't quite understand- almost as if he's trying to crawl inside her, be consumed by her. He'd rebuffed her few attempts to pry for more information with brusque mentions of club business, and she'd not yet managed to figure out how to confess that she'd heard every word he'd said that night weeks ago. Worse, she doesn't have the words to tell him that _this_, right here- his unwillingness to let her in, his inability to partake in his half of the bone-deep connection she still fiercely believes they share- could break them far more easily than anything he'd seen or done for SAMCRO.

She'd heard him come in at nearly three last night, but to her surprise he'd shuffled immediately to the shower. A good twenty minutes later, she'd half-woken to the water still running and decided to investigate; she'd crept across the apartment and stood silently in the doorway. It had taken a moment, but she'd been able to make out Jackson's form through the pebbled glass- feet spread wide, arm against the shower wall, his forehead resting against it. His eyes were squeezed shut, the water running in rivulets over his blonde hair, down his toned back and ass… Suddenly, Tara had realized why the steam that had settled, thick, in the small room was no longer rolling out of the shower stall; the water had long since turned cool, and yet he stood there- unmoving except for the deep, measured breaths he was taking- almost as if he was hoping to literally or figuratively drown out the noise that had been threatening to deafen him.

Tara had watched him for a few long minutes, noted the muddy jeans and the muddier sneakers piled in a heap by the door, until he finally moved- to turn the water off. She'd quietly crept back into bed, waited with shallow, anxious breaths, her spine prickling as he finished his nighttime routine and re-entered the bedroom. His skin had been cool, and Tara hadn't been able to resist shivering lightly as he pressed his chest to her back, but he hadn't seemed to notice- just burrowed into the crook of her neck, laying a soft kiss there before releasing the breath he'd likely been holding since he'd exited the shower. It had been the first night he hadn't awoken with a jolt in nearly a month.

And so, her mind churning in the endless, circular fashion it has since she was a kid- hell, if she hadn't figured out how to turn it off by now, she supposes she never will- Tara decides to take a page out of Jackson's book. She strips, tossing her clothes into the hamper on the way to the bathroom, twists the shower handle until the steam fills the stall, steps in, and sets about drowning out the noise.

* * *

Gemma's Cadillac slows to a stop near the T-W office, which is just beginning to close down for the day, and she waves her hand in a circle, prompting Tara to quicken her steps across the lot. Of _course _the woman couldn't be bothered to actually pull up to the clubhouse… Tara immediately feels guilty for her line of thinking, however, when the Caddy is immediately swarmed by a few hangaround mechanics, Kozik and Tig. Before she reaches them, Gemma holds up one finger, signaling to Tara that she'd be right back, and the whole group heads into the office.

"Tara!"

Almost before she realizes who's shouted her name, Trinity's out of the car and wrapped around her midsection, beaming up at her with bright blue eyes.

"Hey Trini. You ready to come hang out with me today?" Trinity just nods, her eyes scanning the lot momentarily, before blinking back up at Tara.

"I am, yeah. Will Jackson be here?" _Good question, kid._

"You remember how your Dad's work keeps him really really busy sometimes?" Trinity's face is falling, even before Tara's able to finish her line of questioning, and she could kick herself for not pushing Jackson to take her to Gemma's, earlier. She proceeds carefully, pasting a smile on her face she knows even an eight year old probably sees through. "Jackson… he has the same job, now that he's done with school remember?" A slow nod of the head tells her that Trinity does, in fact remember, and the whole thing makes her heart twinge with guilt once again. "But maybe if he gets done early, we can meet up with him to say hi, okay?" Another nod, and then most of the T-W crew bursts out of the office door, the mechanics towards the bays, Kozik and Tig towards the bikes parked alongside the fence.

"You headed home, Tiggy? Or are ya gonna go drown your sorrows at the Jellybean until everyone else gets back?" Kozik's voice is teasing as he veers towards Tara and Trinity, though Tig's only response is a rather emphatic middle finger. Koz grins at them both, crossing his feet and moving to rest his palm on the roof of the Cadillac.

"Herman! You better not be leaning your greasy-ass hands on my car, or you'll be spendin' your Saturday afternoon washin' it!" Gemma's voice echoes in the relatively empty lot, even as Tig roars away on his bike. _Herman?_ For his part, Kozik rolls his eyes but dutifully withdraws his hand from the glossy, black clearcoat of the Caddy and scoffs, good-naturedly.

"She's mostly talk, you know," he teases, sending Trinity a wink. "Told me herself she's gotta drive out to Moreno this afternoon, so there ain't no way she's got time to make me wash her car" Tara can't help chuckling, even though Trinity's still somber. "So where are you two lovely ladies headed this afternoon?"

"I thought I'd head on over to the vet clinic- the Doc's been trying to make the upstairs usable and I thought I could give her a hand. Trinity, I thought you'd like to see the animals…" Her only response is a listless shrug, and Tara's words of encouragement die on her lips. _Time to play the ace up your sleeve._ "Did I mention that someone brought in a pregnant stray a few weeks back? And that there are puppies?" Trinity's eyes widen, despite herself, and she can't seem to help peppering Tara with questions.

"Really? How many? What kind? D'ya think I might be able t' hold one? Or maybe Da will let me take one home when they're big enough. D'ya know how long they'll have to stay at the vet?" Both Tara and Kozik can barely hold in their laughter, and he's shaking his head as he leans in to mutter in her ear,

"Gem's gonna fuckin' _end _you, you know that, don't you?" Tara can only shrug and smile at the thought of Gemma chasing after a brand new puppy... and then Kozik's shuffling his feet a bit, stepping back to address Gemma herself, who's locking up the office.

"Hey Gem! I know you got shi- uh, _stuff_ to do." He glances at Trinity, who rolls her eyes at his self-censorship, then back at Gemma, who's eyeing him expectantly. "If you want, I can run the girls over to the vet's, give you an earlier start, and… " He shrugs, then, his voice faltering, and Gemma's brows knit.

"Well, first off, Tara, I didn't know you had to work today-"

"I don't, I just-"

"And _second,_ you plannin' to drive the both of 'em over there on your bike, or what?" Silence settles in as Kozik evidently comes to the realization that there's no way all three of them are getting on the bike; then, he's brightening, countering with a suggestion of his own.

"I could drive 'em over in your-"

"You can stop right there, Herman, 'cause there ain't no _way_ you're drivin' the Caddy." Gemma lowers her sunglasses to scrutinize him over the rims. "Besides- how the hell do I get an earlier start if I'm here, waitin' for you to show up with my goddamn car?" Kozik shrugs, then grins sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Guess you're right. When you headin' back from Moreno?" Gemma snorts, replacing her sunglasses and digging her keys from her purse.

"Who the hell knows? Half the time, Mary won't even let me in the front door and I wind up talkin' SAMCRO business on her front steps. The _other_ half, she makes a pitcher of goddamn margaritas and I practically have to slip out when she's in the ladies' room."

"Alright, then, if it'll help you out, I can pick the girls up, later," Gemma raises an eyebrow, and Kozik hastens to add- "I'll use the Cutlass- if that's okay with you, Tara- bring 'em back here when they're done… say, about three?" Gemma throws her hands up in exasperation and yanks open the door to the Cadillac.

"If it's alright with Tara, it's alright with me."

Kozik's face is kind, but expressionless, and Tara gets the impression he's being careful to keep it that way. She, however, makes no move to keep the smirk off her own lips, and says only,

"Three's fine…_ if _you agree to take a look at the front door; the lock is old and Ang- uh, _Doctor Carlson_ swears the mechanism's shot. You know… since you want to _help out_." This time, Kozik rolls his eyes, but nods agreeably anyway.

"Deal."

Gemma just waits for them to get in and starts the car, doesn't bother to ask why, exactly, Tara's the one setting the terms for a favor Kozik had offered; Tara notes the subtle raise of her eyebrow, though- the way she watches him retreat to his bike- and knows beyond a doubt the woman's mind is already making connections.

"I'm really takin' you to work on a Saturday?"

"I'm not working, really- just helping Doctor Carlson clear out the upstairs."

"Sounds like work to me, sweetheart. She payin' ya?"

"No, I offered to help out once my summer classes were over, but I wasn't able to get over there until now." At this, Gemma purses her lips, shakes her head a bit.

"I_ told_ ya I'd teach ya how to drive, Tara. Ain't no sense in you havin' to depend on Jackson, Donna and Kozik-"

"_Jax_ sent Kozik, that first time. You know, the afternoon he got held up at the _porn studio_ and I was late for lab." Tara tries to keep the distaste from creeping into her voice, she really does- after all, Gemma's best friend in the world worked on camera for years, and is now the owner of said studio. She's done well for herself… but that doesn't mean Tara likes the idea of porn stars hanging around her boyfriend.

"I don't like him bein' over there any more than you do, sweetheart," _Oh, I doubt that… _"but with Otto locked up, Opie's takin' on LuAnn's problems as his own and I gotta respect him for that. He's loyal, like a Son should be- and when his sponsor's Old Lady needs somethin', he's steppin' up." Gemma smiles, fondly, before continuing. "And Jackson… wherever Ope goes, he's there to back him up." She shrugs, her eyes- visible behind the corner of her sunglasses- flitting to Tara, briefly. "Loyalty, baby."

"I get that, Gemma, I do. Doesn't make the whole _porn star_ thing any easier to swallow. I just…" Tara sighs, forcefully, in lieu of sounding like the insecure fifteen-year-old that had spit venom at Melissa Rourke in the middle of the CHS cafeteria.

"Donna feel the same way you do?"

"Honestly, Gemma? I have no idea. She's been working every chance she gets, saving up for a place of her own. You know, since her parents aren't crazy about... " she makes a frustrated gesture with her hand, one Gemma seems to understand. "Besides, I have no idea how much Opie tells her about club shit, and it isn't my place to bring it up, you know?" There's a long silence as Gemma guides the car over the shaded streets of the older part of town.

"You're a good girl, Tara," she says, finally. "And like I said at graduation and probably ten times since, you're good for my Jackson. But you gotta understand- he'll tell ya what he can, and everything else, well…"

Gemma shifts the car into park- _Jesus_, Tara hadn't even noticed they'd reached the clinic- and turns in the driver's seat to face her, reaches out to let a strand of hair slip through her fingers momentarily before continuing.

"You just gotta be there for him, sweetheart. I _know _you, and I know your mind won't stop once it gets goin'... but I _also_ know when my son's workin' shit through and what he needs while he's doin' it- and right now that's you."

"He _has_ me, Gemma. Everything else just keeps getting in the way."

"That's the life, baby." Unable to spend another minute analyzing Jax's state of mind- especially with Gemma, who seems to be a veritable fountain of Old Lady platitudes- Tara tosses her a quick smile, ignoring the contemplative look emanating from the driver's seat.

"You ready, Trini?" Trinity nods, glancing between Tara and Gemma as if trying to fill in the blanks of their conversation.

"I'll see ya back at the clubhouse tonight- guys'll be back, and we got visitors besides. I'm havin' Bobby and JT grill, and I could use your help settin' up." _Great, more time in the kitchen with the croweaters. _However, Tara just shoots Gemma a weak smile and grabs Trinity's hand.

"Let's go see some puppies."

An hour and a half later, Tara and Doctor Carlson- Angela, she'd insisted Trinity call her- are dragging a large section of wire fencing from the shed in the clinic's backyard. In its previous life as a house, the clinic had been home to families, as evidenced by the array of old high chairs, rusted metal toys, and warped wooden furniture in the shed.

"_God,_ I don't even want to think about tackling that stupid shed," Angela groans, putting her weight behind her half of the fence, effectively opening it into a half-moon shape. Tara follows suit and soon, there's a somewhat-misshapen metal pen occupying the yard- perfect for the group of four tumbling puppies Trinity had taken nary a step away from since their arrival at the clinic.

"Then don't," Tara says, reasonably. "We're a couple boxes away from having the entire upstairs finished- and half of that has been without my help." She winces, then, although Angela doesn't seem to notice. "I'm sorry, by the way. I know I said I'd be here, but the past week's been crazy and I haven't had a ride-"

"Tara. Stop apologizing- your internship is officially over as of next week and you're going above and beyond as it is." Slowing a bit to open the side door, Angela tosses a thoughtful look over her shoulder. "I just can't believe you're still having to catch a ride over here…" She chews her lip a moment before asking her next question. "What are you going to do when fall classes start in a few weeks and you're taking a full schedule?"

"I have the DMV manual- it's sort of a correspondence course thing and I _know_ I'll pass the written test. It's the actual driving I'm worried about. You need six hours of experience, and I've got about two." Angela snorts.

"Kids have been lying about their driving experience since the DMV was invented, so that won't be a problem. You think you can pass the driving test?"

"I don't know," Tara says, truthfully. "Turns out, I suck at it so far. If not, I'll just have to hope my friend Donna has a similar class schedule, or that Jackson somehow has fewer responsibilities…" God, that even _sounds_ lame, coming out of her mouth.

Jackson had sworn, at the beginning of the summer, that he'd have her an expert driver in a couple weeks' time. Then all the shit with Maureen, the funeral, prospecting, had happened, and for the first time in Tara's life she'd been complacent, let it fall to other people to help her reach her goals- and here it is, biting her in the ass. Angela pauses in the hallway outside the kennel room to regard her thoughtfully.

"You don't like feeling out of your element, do you? And I don't mean learning new things- you're a champ at that, as you've proven during your time here. But having to do things you're not great at, or have to rely on others for… it gets to you, doesn't it?"

"Christ, I feel like all I've _done_ lately is rely on everyone else. I... " Tara chuckles, prompting a smile from the doctor. "I hate it."

"Thought so. I also think we're a lot alike." It seems like there's more Angela wants to say, but then she's pushing through the door, gesturing at Tara to follow after her. "C'mon. Let's get these little guys outside."

Trinity's lying on the grass inside the pen by the time they cross the backyard again with the puppies- four fat, wriggling, brown balls of questionable heritage, though it's clear that their mother is at least mostly German Shepherd. She'd trotted dutifully behind as they'd carried the puppies out, and now a soft whine prompts Angela to open the gate to the pen for her and she instantly crosses towards Trinity, circles, and lies down, her body curved in invitation.

"The ma- she likes me!" Trinity bubbles, reaching a tentative hand towards the dog, who seems to lean into her touch.

"It's because she trusts you- she's seen how gentle you are with her puppies and mamas like that." Tara gently sets each of two puppies just inside the gate, and Angela follows suit. When they're toddling towards Trinity and well clear of the gate, Tara pulls it closed behind them and the two women stand and watch for a moment as Trinity just lights up, giggling as one of the puppies places its front paws on her side. "Are you okay in here with them while we go get those last few boxes to the dumpster?"

"Are ya crazy?" The laughter that follows reassures Tara that this is a rhetorical question, and together, they leave Trinity to her puppies.

"You're really good with her, Tara." Angela ventures some time later as they're surveying the newly-emptied upstairs of the clinic. Most of the last few trips to the dumpster have been spent in companionable silence, and Tara starts a bit at the sound of her voice.

"You think?" Tara responds, hopefully. "I mean, I never had siblings of my own, so I tried to take cues from Jackson. He's really good with her… when he's around. But she needs someone, a friend, or a sister- someone besides her parents; she's had it rough- first not growing up with a father, then having him thrust back into her life like that, and now with her mom dying…" Tara shakes her head. It's a moment before the doctor answers, and when she does, it's with a soft grunt as she places one of the last two boxes in Tara's arms.

"Speaking of Jackson… you've been an intern here all summer, and aside from that first time, I've barely seen him besides when you run out to meet him."

"I'm usually only _running _because he's late."

"I've seen a little of the way you two are around each other, so I don't know if I buy that that's the only reason you're so eager to get on the back of his bike," the doctor snorts, sending a knowing smile her way. "Anyway, I know _who_ he is, know who his_ family_ is- but most of it is town gossip, and you know how accurate _that _usually is…"

Christ, had they really made it through an entire summer without Doctor Carlson asking about Jackson and SAMCRO? Why _now_, when her time here is almost over; more importantly, just what the hell is Tara supposed to tell her? After a moment, she decides on just the basics, the personal versus the club.

"His family… they've been so wonderful to me since I came back here. When things got crazy with my dad, they opened their home to me. The club- his extended family- is like a bunch of uncles, and despite what people say, they do a lot of good. They keep drugs out of Charming, run protection for local businesses and a bunch of other stuff I'm probably forgetting. And they've been great to me, too. They've been letting us stay at the, uh, clubhouse for a while now."

They're in the backyard again as Tara finishes- neither bothers Trinity, who's dreamily stroking the back of a puppy- but instead of veering towards the dumpster, the doctor heads towards the back stairs of the garage apartment with her box, and Tara follows.

"These are boxes of mostly kitchen things I already had in the break room kitchen," Angela explains, trudging up the wooden staircase. "I thought I'd keep 'em up here in case…" She shrugs and bumps the door open with a hip, sending daylight streaming into the dark expanse of the apartment. It's surprisingly neutral- at least what's not covered by yet more cardboard boxes; Tara glimpses a thickly varnished wood floor, a rather retro-looking series of white metal cabinets and basic appliances in one corner, and a windowed alcove obviously meant for a bed in the other. A small door stands open to reveal a white-tiled bathroom and besides the boxes, the overall effect isn't an unpleasant one.

Angela plunks her burden down on a small table pushed up against the wall near the kitchenette, and Tara does the same, turning to head back to the door when the doctor's voice wafts through the dark again.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, Tara, I just haven't had a good chunk of time alone with you until now. Now, feel free to say no; I'll understand, especially with the course load you'll have this fall. But…" A small smile- similar to the one Tara had seen grace her lips during surgery- appears as the doctor clasps her hands together. "Would you consider staying on at the clinic, dependent on your class schedule, of course? Whatever works- a few mornings, a few afternoons, the odd Saturday morning, that kind of thing. Your duties would be about the same as they are now- odds and ends, some filing, some assisting, some desk time- and maybe we can have you cover Lena's lunch hours. And of course, whenever you're able, you can observe procedures."

Holy. Shit. A job- a real job, one she'd be getting paid for; better yet, a job that helps bring her closer to her goals, one that comes with a mentor that's probably the most genuine, friendly adult she's experienced in Charming besides JT. Then, like a dash of cold water, her previous worries overtake her, seeping in to bring her back to reality. How the fuck is she supposed to arrange yet another set of responsibilities in addition to her course load at CCC? She'd had enough trouble finding her way here over the summer as it is. There's a long pause, during which the doctor's smile falters, just a bit.

"You interested? It'd be pretty close to minimum wage, I'm afraid; I already have to pay two employees, but-"

"Oh, I'm interested, I am… it's just…" Tara pushes out a breath, dropping into the hard kitchen chair next to the table. "What we talked about earlier- how I'm getting to classes, how I'm getting here- it's going to be an issue." Nodding, Angela lowers herself into the chair next to her.

"I know. To be honest, that's sort of why I asked, earlier." She sighs, fixes her eyes on Tara's a moment, and seems to be weighing her options, choosing her words and considering the outcomes carefully before proceeding. _Just like a doctor_, Tara thinks, fleetingly, as the other woman begins to speak.

"I've known you how long, Tara? A few months?" She doesn't wait for Tara's nod, just continues in a clear, steady voice. "And in that time, I've gotten to know someone who- professionally speaking- is probably the most strong-willed, driven student I've ever met… but at what point does that translate into your personal life?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Staying over on their compound- SAMCRO's. You're having to depend on your boyfriend or your friends for a ride, and once school starts up again, you'll have a full slate of classes plus any additional duties you agree to take on, here. Like you said, transportation is an issue because it's something you aren't able to take control of… but what if you're already_ here_?" Tara stares at her, blankly.

"What do you mean?" Angela waves a hand at the confines of the apartment and, suddenly, everything clicks into place.

"You could stay here, in the apartment- it's blocks from campus and that way, you wouldn't have to find your way here every time you have a shift before class. There's nobody here but the animals after about six o'clock, and you'd have some peace and quiet to get your studying done."

Instantly, a rush of possibilities fills Tara's mind- an actual kitchen that's hers and _only _hers, parties into the wee hours of the morning only when she wants to attend them, a relative dearth of croweaters… and most of all, some space between her and all the extra shit that comes with Jackson prospecting for SAMCRO. Even as Tara's allowing herself to be pulled along into a fantasy about having her own place, though, she's unable to keep her face from falling as one very obvious pitfall suddenly springs to mind- all of that freedom comes at a cost. Accurately reading her facial expression, Angela continues, hurriedly.

"To be honest, _you'd_ be helping _me_ out- I need to get the rest of these boxes cleared out, maybe do a little painting and sort of freshen things up, and I thought maybe you'd be willing to help with that. It would also be nice to have someone right here in case any overnight patients need looked in on occasionally, so rent would offset the additional wage you'd be making. I'm not delusional, Tara- I know you'll need to save up for school, and I don't intend to gouge you on the rent."

Angela pauses, and Tara studies her hands for a moment, flexes them like her mother used to do before she'd sit at the piano and fill the Knowles living room with music. In that moment Tara allows herself to imagine, once again, coming back from class to her own apartment, a space without her father's midnight fumbling in the kitchen, without Gemma pounding on the door, or shitty hair metal blaring from a jukebox… but also without Jackson's strong arms around her. Without his kutte draped over a chair, or his boxers on the floor, or his scent surrounding her even as she drifts off to sleep, alone.

"But Jackson…" she breathes, hating herself the moment his name crosses her lips- because it only serves to confirm that even though Doctor Carlson's offer would eliminate any lingering worry about money, transportation, or time, it also leaves her without an excuse… except for the obvious: she just doesn't know if she can bear to leave him, even if it's to move across town versus halfway across the state.

Angela's eyes are kind as she pats Tara's arm, her voice reassuring as she once again guesses at what Tara's thinking.

"You don't have to decide right away, Tara, though it would be a good thing if you were moved in before fall classes start, i'd think. I know there's a lot to consider- Jackson, his family, all the rest." She tilts her head and smiles a bit, her eyes almost wistful. "I don't want to overstep my boundaries here… but you love him, don't you?" Tara's expression evidently tells her everything she needs to know, because she proceeds as if her question's been answered outright.

"And if_ he_ loves _you_, he'll understand that whatever decision you make, you'll love him just as much. Besides," the doctor reddens, a bit, "I'm not your parent- I won't tell you who can stay here, and I'm _definitely_not going to be up here enforcing some curfew or checking for stray boyfriends under the bed." Tara snickers at the thought of sneaking Jax up the back stairs, pushing him back down them again the next morning in his boxers. "But in the meantime, I just want you to ask yourself a question- when was the last time you made a decision where you considered _you_, first?"

Before she can answer what she's not sure was a rhetorical question, or even begin to consider the implications behind it, Tara's thoughts are put to a halt by the faint hint of voices and laughter from the back yard.

"Think about it, okay?" is all Angela says before she pushes herself out of the chair and jerks her head towards the apartment door. "For now, we better go see who's with your, uh… Trinity."

_Who_, in this case, turns out to be Kozik, leaning over the edge of the pen and dangling his fingers as close to the ground as he can get them while a particularly fat puppy alternately nips at the fingers and at his brother's ear. Trinity's sitting- now with the mother dog's head in her lap- and watching the proceedings, her laughter filling the expanse of the yard.

When Kozik spots them, he straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans and seemingly trying to adopt a casual pose- his hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. Tara watches with interest as it broadens when Angela reaches the bottom of the stairs and starts across the grass towards him.

"Mr. uh…"

"Kozik," he supplies instantly, "and you can just _call_ me Kozik- everyone else does."

"Okay, _Kozik_. Well, it's nice to see you again." They falter a moment, exchanging smiles, before Kozik seems to remember himself.

"Yeah, uh… you too, Angela." He casts around a moment for something to say, before landing on the obvious. "So, a patient of yours had puppies?"

"No, actually, it was a coworker," the doctor replies without missing a beat, and though Tara nearly strangles herself holding back her laughter, poor Kozik takes just a moment too long to catch on.

"Wha-" is all he ekes out before his face reddens, and then Tara and Trinity burst out laughing for real, even as Angela mercifully comes to his rescue.

"Actually," she says, chuckling herself, "Mama here wasn't a patient-"

"_Missy_," Trinity interjects, ruffling the fur between the dog's ears. "She told me she wanted her name to be Missy." Angela nods, slowly, a thoughtful smile gracing her lips.

"You know, I think that's perfect. Thanks for telling us, sweetheart." Trinity's beaming by the time the doctor continues her story. " Well, it appears Missy had been a stray for quite some time. I think someone found her and then decided that a pregnant dog was too much of a responsibility because she was tied to the front porch railing when I came in to work, about ready to pop. These guys here were born the next night."

Kozik's in the midst of asking what sort of dogs they are, how old- and about a hundred other puppy-related questions that are mostly answered by Trinity- when Tara hears the unmistakable screech of the Cutlass coming to a halt somewhere in the distance. _What the hell? _Kozik pauses, too, catches her eye as her mind begins turning.

"Kozik, didn't you drive the Cutlass over here?"

"Naw, wound up borrowin' Ope's truck. When I left, the Cutlass was sittin' pretty on the lot, just like always." He, too, frowns, then, scratches his neck while the doctor glances back and forth between the two of them.

"Who-"

"Jacksonnnn!" Trinity fairly squeals, startling Missy to her feet and sending one of the puppies tumbling sideways in shock. She's unlatching the gate by the time Tara's able to turn to see Jackson rounding the corner of the clinic towards them, his kutte still hanging from his shoulders- he must have come directly here after the run.

Trinity reaches him several feet into the backyard and Tara can't help but smile when he has a full-fledged grin for her- the first she's seen in weeks. He swings her into a hug, but barely has her set back on the grass before she's tugging him along behind her.

"Jackson, you got t' come look at these puppies. D'ya think Gem and Da will let me bring one home? Or maybe she'd rather have-"

"Darlin'... the only thing Gem's gonna _have_, if you bring one of these puppies into her house, is a damn conniption."

Jax sends Trinity a wink, his lips quirking into the crooked grin Tara had fallen in love with, and then he's glancing up at her, blue eyes burning the moment they meet hers. She can't help the lurch in her heart or the soaring feeling in her stomach at the mere sight of him any more than she could when she was fifteen. It's always been this way, since their reconnection- this visceral pull she feels towards him- and suddenly she doesn't know what's scarier, wondering if she'll always feel this way about him… or if possibility exists that she could stop.

"Hey, Babe," Jax drawls, reaching her side and pressing a kiss against her cheek. Then, his gaze flickers to Kozik and then Doctor Carlson, the latter of whom is watching them with interest, the former eyeing the doctor herself. "Ma'am. Nice to see you again."

"What_ is _it with you bikers and calling me ma'am?" the doctor says, shaking her head.

"My mom-"

"Tell me something, Jackson… does your mom like to be called ma'am?" She cocks an eyebrow as Jax's eyes widen, likely remembering all the times Gemma had warned David Hale or someone to call her ma'am again at their own risk. "Like I told your friend here, call me Angela." That easy, Teller grin spreads across his face, then, and Jax shrugs, even as Trinity tugs on his hand again.

"You got it, Angela." Then, turning to Tara and lacing his fingers through his little sister's- "When you weren't at the clubhouse, I called Ma; she said she dropped you off, earlier. You guys close to finishin' up?"

"Yeah, I think we're done for today. I didn't know you'd be back this early, or I wouldn't have told Kozik he-" Jax snorts, angling his head to eye Kozik.

"You can go on back to T-W, man, I got it handled." His voice is casual, but the way he's raising his chin, the way his jaw tightens the tiniest bit… Kozik's brows shoot up in surprise.

"Hey, man-"

"Gemma said thanks for the offer." Jax says with finality, and that probably would have ended the conversation… with anyone but an actual patched member of SAMCRO; Kozik blinks, slowly, then releases a strained chuckle of his own.

"Y'know, _Prospect_, if I want to offer to help out your mom, your old man, your little sis here- _or _your girl- you pretty much just get to say thank you. So, I'll be waitin' on that thank you…_ after _you wash and wax my bike tomorrow." Jax's jaw clenches in earnest, this time, as the other man continues. "S'far as goin' on back to T-W goes, Tara told me that the front door needs lookin' at, so if it's okay with the Doc here, I'll be stickin' around for a little bit."

From the looks of Angela, she's more than okay with this development and for a moment, Tara's sorely tempted to stick around herself, just to watch this all unfold. Then, Jax takes her hand and kisses it, swinging both her and Trinity's hands at his sides.

"I should probably get my best girl- _and _my girlfriend-" another wink for Trinity and an indulgent eyeroll from Tara- "outta here if you're done with 'em, Angela. My dad's got big plans for Trini and I've got big plans for Tara, here."

"Yeah, go ahead. We finished the upstairs today, for the most part. I just have to move a couple file cabinets into the room I actually plan to keep records in, but that can wait-"

"I got time…" Kozik offers, and this time, Angela shoots him a grateful smile.

"That would be great, thanks. C'mon, take a couple of puppies and we'll get these guys settled back in their kennel, and then I'll show you where I mean. Oh, and Tara? Thanks for the help today. And think about what I said, okay?"

Somehow, Tara has the feeling that_ thinking_ about it won't be the problem.

* * *

"So you want to tell me what all that was with you and Kozik earlier?"

They're headed out of town in the Cutlass, having dropped Trinity off at the lot with JT; his big plans had evidently included taking her on a ride out to Andy's to finalize Gemma's meat order for tonight's barbecue, and then somewhere for ice cream. Tara chuckles at the thought of JT, the King of Charming, on some daddy-daughter date, then focuses her attention back onto Jackson, who seems to be either mulling over her question or avoiding answering it.

"Jax?" He bites his lip, glances at her, then shrugs.

"I dunno babe. Ma told me how eager he seemed to give you a lift, and _then _she asked me how often he'd been pickin' you up, places, because I couldn't." Tara shakes her head, the memory of Gemma's calculating look resurfacing; it sure as hell hadn't taken her long to draw her own conclusions... _or_ to reveal them to her son.

"And _you_ asked him to do that, Baby. Remember?"

"Oh, I _remember_. I just don't remember askin' him to be my girl's official _chauffer service_ while I was at it." Tara can't help rolling her eyes; this would all be funny- the set in his jaw, that unmistakable flash in his eye- if he hadn't opened his big mouth in front of Kozik himself and earned extra Prospecting duties for his troubles.

"He's interested in _Angela_\- who's my boss, by the way, and just watched you make sort of an ass out of yourself._ Not _me; I mean, didn't you notice the way he acts around her?" The guilty look he flashes her tells her _no_, he hadn't. "Christ, Jackson, he's practically tongue-tied when he's not falling all over himself to offer to help her. So can you rein in the green monster, please? Before you say the wrong shit to Tig, or Piney and I never see you in the daytime, ever again, or wind up insulting my boss while you're at it?" _Oh, yeah, and how about you stop letting your mother convince you problems exist where they don't._

Jax just shrugs and pats the seat next to him, prompting Tara to slide over on the generous bench seat and curl into his side.

"Sorry, Babe. I just started thinkin' about all the time I've been gone lately, and just how much I've had to rely on Donna or guys that ain't me to get my girl where she needs to go. And it just got to me." _You mean Gemma got to you_, Tara doesn't say. "Which is why I'm makin' it my mission to get you to pass your driver's test before the summer's out."

"Mmhmm. That why we're headed up to the cabin?" She'd recognized the familiar route right away- it's one they'd traveled countless times over the past few years.

"Actually, yeah. There's a lot more open space up there on that big old gravel road- _and,_ a whole lot less shit for you to run into." Frowning, Tara backhands him in the chest, setting him laughing as he turns off the highway and onto the well-known gravel, slowing to a stop a ways up the road. "You're gonna want to sit up a bit for this, Babe, and pay attention." Nodding, Tara straightens and moves to slide back over to the passenger side; Jax seizes her elbow, shaking his head. "No, no- stay over here. I want you to watch what I'm doin' first."

"You already _showed_ me, Jackson. I'm pretty sure I-"

"Nah. I showed you while you were sittin' way over there, and then had you give it a shot while_ I _was sittin' way over there. We're tryin' somethin' new, so just bear with me." He moves the shifter slightly, and the engine seems to smooth out, a bit. "This here's a standard three speed- a three on the tree, Piney calls it. In the middle, you got neutral- see how we're not goin' anywhere, even when I give it some gas?" He revs the engine, and Tara rolls her eyes.

"I know what neutral is, Jackson-"

"Just listen, alright? We're startin' over." Hiding a smile, she motions at him to proceed, turning her attention to the shifter in his hand. "Okay. So even though it's a three speed, there's five positions the shifter can be in- reverse, neutral, first, second and third. Think of it like an H, with neutral in the middle; from neutral, you got to trace your path back out to the upright parts- out and up for reverse, down for first. Back up, across the middle, and further up for second… and down for third. Now when you want to get goin' from neutral you wanna go to first gear. Leave your foot on the brake, hit the clutch with your left, and once you feel it engage, shift into first and give it a little gas." The Cutlass rolls forward, picking up speed slowly on the gravel road, and Jax's brow furrows in concentration.

"Okay, see your RPMs?" Tara leans into him a bit further, and nods. "So when you get to about three thousand, you want to shift into second. You remember where that is?"

"Back, and up top."

"Yup. Off the gas, clutch in, and you gotta slide up, over, and up again for second. Then give it some gas and once you do, let off the clutch." Seamlessly, the car continues on, and Jackson glances at her. "You gettin' this?" Christ, is she? Tara shrugs, prompting Jax to sigh, and she can't help letting out a huff of her own.

"It's a lot of _shit_, Jax. Both feet, all the different gears, the speedometer-"

"Tachometer-"

"Whatever. What's next?"

"Just a repeat, Babe. Once you're at…." He looks at her expectantly- _shit, _is she supposed to be answering some question? "How many RPMs, Tara?"

"Uh… three thousand." He grins, and her stomach clenches with this small victory.

"Yep. Then you're gonna want to shift again. Same thing- off the gas quick, clutch in, and 3rd is straight down from second." Again, the Cutlass seems to respond to him like magic- she fully believes at this point that his touch could very well _be_ magic- and they're rolling down the gravel road at a good clip.

Jackson walks her through downshifting as they near the cabin and pull into the rocky expanse to park; he runs through the shifting routine once, twice, three times, until Tara's certain her head's going to explode if she has to hear it again. Finally, he's turning off the car and sliding over- patting the seat next to him again and leading Tara to wrinkle her nose.

"We can't _both _fit in the driver's seat, Jax-"

"The hell we can't. I'm sittin' between you and the door, just in case we're about to crash and I got to bail." His cheeky smirk tells her he's kidding, but he makes no move to get out of the car and circle around to the passenger's seat.

"Move _over_, Jackson!" Tara hip checks him, but he stays put and merely shakes his head.

"Naw, Babe. I'll be right here so I can see what you're doin' and help you out if need be." The smirk fades, and he regards her seriously for a moment. "You remember what position you want to start at?" Biting her lip, Tara arranges her feet and reaches for the ignition- then his hand on her arm stops her progress.

"You sure?" His words have her hesitating for a moment... but she's_ sick_ of hesitating so she brushes it off and turns the key, sending the car lurching violently forward before stopping dead in its tracks. _Fuck. What the hell did I do wrong? Start the car, put it in neutral..._ Then, a snicker from over near the door has her glaring in Jax's direction before she can finish walking herself through the steps.

"You gonna laugh or tell me what I did wrong so we can move on?" Jax's shoulders are still shaking in mirth as he gestures at the shifter.

"Always make sure it's in neutral before you start the car, Babe. Otherwise, you're liable to whack your head on the steering wheel someday and give yourself half a concussion." Tara sticks her tongue out at him, moves the shifter into the correct position, and waits, raising an eyebrow expectantly. "_Real _mature," he teases, "Now, try starting it again."

This attempt goes as expected, and Jackson points to the open area alongside the cabin, smiling at Tara's slightly frantic expression.

"See if you can get her into first gear. Remember to push in the clutch… no, with the other foot. No, wait, don't hit the-" Groaning, the car lurches forward and dies, again, prompting her to slap the steering wheel in frustration.

"_Shit!_ Why is this so hard?"

"You can't be good at everything, Babe." Jax answers with a chuckle. "Give 'er another try, I got nowhere to be until six." Briefly, Tara contemplates reminding him she'd promised Gemma she'd help with the barbecue, wanting- _needing_\- this lesson to end, and soon. Then, the prospect of being able to drive herself- in _her_ Cutlass- to class, to work, over to Lodi to the mall, freaking _anywhere_ beckons… and she grits her teeth and tries again. And again. And again. And again until, finally, she's rolling forward in first gear, reveling in the sensation of the Cutlass finally, _finally_, responding to her movements.

_Okay. Give it a little more gas, Knowles. You have to get the speed up to change gears. One thousand… two thousand… shit, three thousand. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I'm not ready. Is it the clutch or the gas, first? Jesus Christ, just guess. No, wait; don't guess, be sure. Its the clutch… I think._

With Tara's left foot wavering over the clutch, her right pressing down on the gas, the engine is increasingly loud as they bump down the expanse of gravel… except that, too is running out. _Shit- grass. Can I drive on grass? _Jackson's saying something, his body tensing, but Tara can't manage to focus on both his words and the decision she's just come to- to drive until she finally manages to kill the damn thing, and start all over again.

Faster and faster, louder and louder, and now Jackson really is tensing, gesturing frantically at _something-_ or is he trying to find the door handle? Instantly, she's distracted, imagining him rolling out of the driver's side door at forty miles an hour, hitting a rock or something on the way out, and _she'll _have been the one to kill him-

Then, what's he's saying registers, finally.

"Tara! Get off the gas and hit the clutch!" Instantly, she does so, and he's reaching across her before she can grasp what he's doing, popping the shifter into neutral. "Now, slowly, brake. Ri- _right_ foot, Babe." Then, they're at a stop, and she shifts into park- hey, one other thing she got right- before she turns to him. He's breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and there's more than a little panic in his eyes-but also, she thinks, a glint of pride- as he drops his head back onto the window and pushes out a long breath. "You go too fast in low gear, you could bend a valve-"

And then she's on him, shutting him up with her mouth on his, and he's just beginning to respond to the kiss when she pulls back, a wicked smile curling her lips.

"Can I try again?" And she can't tell whether his answering groan is borne of passion or frustration, but his only answer is-

"_God,_ you're lucky I love you."

It's an hour- and countless fits and starts- later that Jackson taps the clock on the dash and points out that the guests, whoever they are, will be at the clubhouse within the hour and they should probably get back. Reluctantly, Tara agrees- _Jesus_, she feels like she's just now getting the hang of things. Then, the prospect of Gemma's disapproving glare as the two of them waltz into the clubhouse, late once again, springs to mind; Tara shakes her head, dreading the thought of facing her tonight after whatever the hell she'd said to Jackson. Although, apparently Gemma's words- coupled with Jax's brief bout of jealousy- had prompted this driving lesson, so she supposes she's grateful- however grudgingly so.

"I need to pee before we head out, is it open?"

"Shouldn't be, but we can fix that." Grinning, Jax exits the car, pulling her behind him to the steps, dropping a kiss on her lips before retrieving the key from under the mat. "Make sure you lock up on your way out."

Afterwards, her business taken care of, Tara can't help lingering a moment, memories seeming to surround her as she moves through the cabin in the early evening light. She passes the bedroom in which she'd been naked with a boy for the first time ever, the couch where Jackson had touched her- made her come- for the first time, and she him. She stops, just inside the door, and bites her lip at the memory of him pushing her against the wall by the fireplace, of them stretched, naked, on the giant wooden swing in the backyard and rocking together underneath the stars. God, what she wouldn't do to escape here, forever- far enough outside Charming and effective enough at avoiding the reach of the club that even JT and Piney hole up out here from time to time.

Tara gives the cabin one last look as she latches the door quietly, as if to preserve all the memories that lie behind it; she slips the key underneath the mat, and turns- expecting to find Jackson waiting, semi-patiently- behind the wheel of the Cutlass. Instead, he's stretched across the hood, one sneaker hitched up on the front fender, the other dangling lazily towards the dirt; his kutte is lying in a heap in the back seat, forgotten- a grass stem clenched between his teeth, its blade gently grazing his full lower lip. Tara stands stock-still a moment, perched on the bottom step of the front porch, loathe to do anything to disrupt the more than idyllic scene spread before her- a warm evening, the sun mottled on the hood of her car by the tall oaks that stretch above it… And, beneath them, her love- looking completely relaxed and happy for the first time in a long time.

The crunch of the gravel beneath her foot as she starts towards him sets Jackson's head swiveling towards her and the smile that alights on those beautiful lips has her heart pounding much like it had, earlier. Except here, they're alone, the way they always are at the cabin; far from Gemma- Tara pushes her earlier instructions aside- the club, and any impending decisions hanging over their heads. Determinedly, she crosses the gravel path as he pushes himself up on his hands- asking, already, as she steps into the place between his knees that seems made for her-

"You ready, Ba-"

For the second time in so many hours, she shuts him up- halts his words with mouth and tongue- but _this _time, he fists his hands in her hair before she can back away and keeps her there, teeth grazing her lower lip, their breaths mingling hotter than the late summer air. He feeds her drugging kisses until her lips are swollen, until her thoughts are hazy and her hands are trembling; then he's sliding off the hood, rising to his feet and hoisting her into him. Her legs wrap around him instinctually and a spare thought drifts through her mind… that this is _so _much easier- and comes so much more naturally- than driving.

She's kissing him heedlessly, wrapped around him like she hasn't been in weeks, when Jackson abruptly bends and places her on the hood of the Cutlass. He tears his mouth away from hers- almost like he can't bear to do it- and tries to steady his breath, the question in his eyes one her body's already answering for him before the words can cross his lips. Suddenly, he's straightening, pulling his white tshirt over his head before tucking one end of it in his pocket, and Tara takes a moment to appreciate the beauty of the man standing in front of her- this man who loves her. He's all hard, lean muscle and sinew, built by months at the garage and years wrangling a bike, but it's his soft, smooth skin that has her fingers itching to touch him, to pull him flush against her so she can feel him slide against her and start the dance they know oh so well.

Then he's looming over her, hair falling into his face and covering one of the soulful blue eyes she'll be seeing in her dreams until the day she dies, planting one hand on each side of her and dipping at the elbows to whisper in her ear-

"Lie back, babe, and put your feet on the bumper." Obediently, Tara kicks off her thong sandals, resting a heel in the well in front of each headlight… but lowers herself only to her elbows, shooting Jax her cockiest of smirks.

"You're awful bossy, Baby… considering this is _my_ car." Jackson makes a dismissive sound with his mouth, pitching forward to capture hers again before mumbling against her lips.

"Well, _I'm_ givin' the lessons here, not you." Somehow, his hands find their way between them, slender fingers popping the button and lowering the zipper of her jean shorts before she even realizes what's happening; rearing back- the insolent smirk returning in full force- to skim both shorts and panties down her legs. He halts only to toss her shorts somewhere behind her- onto the windshield, maybe- then jerks his chin up, saucily. "Take that shirt off."

Again, Tara complies, sitting up a bit to strip her tank over her head before Jackson pulls it from her hand, taking a moment to admire her before pushing her onto her back and punctuating his words with searing kisses.

"Jesus, Tara… you're so goddamn beautiful… this is the fantasy I didn't even know I fuckin' had…" Before she can tell him she could have said the same, he buries his face into her neck, trailing lightly suckling kisses down her collarbone. Impatient- needing more than even his kisses- she wraps her fingers in his sun-bleached hair, guiding him to her breast where her pebbled nipples are already begging for attention. He sucks them, by turn, into his mouth, but all too briefly- then he's grinning up at her and tsk-ing, the breeze sending his hair whispering against her chest.

"My lesson, remember?" Then, all she sees is blue sky and gently waving branches, and she's struggling to raise back up onto her elbows and watch him unbuckle his belt, undo his fly, and pull down his jeans and boxers just enough. She catches a too-brief glimpse of him, bobbing in the mottled sunlight, before he's back- gently pushing her back onto the hood of the car and dropping his full weight on top of her. He catches her earlobe between his teeth briefly, then presses a kiss there before undulating against her, the slide of their skin setting off sparks that seem to scatter, igniting more and more of her until she's all but burning for him. She's wrapping her legs around his hips, trying to pull him closer and align him in just that right spot, when he pulls back.

"Nuh uh, Babe, you're forgetting what I showed you- remember what I said? Right foot here, left all the way over here." Jackson unravels her limbs, places her feet back onto the bumper, effectively exposing her to him once again; even in the lust-filled haze she's in, Tara doesn't miss the flush that spreads across his chest, or the way he licks his lips as he reaches down to stroke himself before bracing an arm on the hood near her shoulder.

"You ready?" He doesn't give her a chance to answer before he's surging forward and parting her with the hard, hot length of him, fixing her in place with his eyes- bluer now, somehow, than the sky above them. Tara's own eyes flutter closed, drifting along on the almost lazy rhythm he's set for them, lost in it all- the slide of his skin, the leaves rustling above them, the warm breeze that's caressing her almost as thoroughly as he is.

As always when he's making love to her- whether it be frantic, slow, rough, gentle, passionate or playful- Tara quickly finds herself on the verge of ecstacy; they've learned together- learned each other- and she knows what's coming next is what _works_, always, to bring them over that edge together. She savors the sensation of him filling her, the quick rasp of his breaths, their soft murmurs of love- feels him swelling inside her, and waits for the rough stroke of his thumb on the most sensitive part of her to tgnite the fire that will envelop them both. When it doesn't come, she bites her lip, forces her eyes open, and is confronted by the love of her life wearing nothing but a teasing grin, his handsome face silhouetted by the sunshine.

"Touch yourself, Babe." When she hesitates, he nods down between them as if at her hands- one curled around the curve of his hip, the other lolling, open, on the hood next to her. "That one- take it, and touch yourself. I wanna watch you come for me."

The rush of heat at his words has her halfway there, already, and when she finally reaches down to stroke herself- parting the smooth skin to find that elusive sweet spot- Jackson hangs his head between them, his hair brushing back and forth over her, rhythmically. He watches as their bodies mesh, watches her fingers slipping over herself, and the thought of it all is so erotic that Tara angles her own head up to join him. There's a flash of the deep vee above his hips, of him disappearing into her over, and over, and over again; and then it's all too much and the waves of pleasure are washing over her, rippling inside and out and sending her jerking up to meet his lips even as he growls her name into her mouth and crashes into her one more time.

He's still for a minute, his weight on her a welcome reprieve from the weight of everything else in her life- the roots of his hair damp, the sheen of his brow evident even as the sun suddenly darkens when a cloud passes overhead. Tara finds that she, too, is truly still- truly _quiet_ in both body and mind- for a change, and it's in this moment that she whispers the first half of the speech she'd been composing in her mind ever since they'd left the clinic, earlier.

"I love you Jackson. No matter where I am, no matter where _you_ are, and no matter what happens to us- I love you." Jackson drags himself from the crook of her neck to rest his forehead on hers, searching her eyes as if he knows there's more, but smiling softly as if he'd rather leave it unsaid, right now, too.

"I love you, too," he says, simply, a look of utter contentment erasing the lines of worry that had been cropping up near his beloved mouth, recently. "That's it for me, Babe- I just fuckin' love you." One more kiss, and then he's rolling off her to lie side by side on the hood of the Cutlass, their only care in the world whether or not the cloud would move before the breeze came back up and one of them got chilly.

* * *

It isn't until they pass the second mile marker- Charming- 6 miles- that the air begins to feel heavy again; it isn't until they pass the familiar redwood sign that all of the worries, the secrets, the half-truths seem to come rushing back. Tara knows because of the weight that seems to be pressing on her own chest… but also because she's been sitting on the bench seat, her feet tucked under Jackson's hip and watching as his left hand grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter. Cringing as the fingers of his right clench ever more securely around hers. Listening as his breaths get shallower and shallower. And despite the carefree afternoon and early evening they'd just had- shit, maybe _because_ of it, because of the contrast she just can't help but notice now that all the worries came piling back on- Tara suddenly just can't keep silent anymore.

"You feel it too, don't you?" she asks, listlessly, and his wince answers her question for her. Still- as always- he's determined to deny the obvious, and he pastes on a look of confusion, as if he's got no idea what she's getting at.

"Feel what?"

'God, you just can't admit it, can you? That you feel what the secrets this place makes you keep does to us, how even driving back into town somehow erased this whole, wonderful afternoon we just had." She hasn't moved since she began speaking… but _he_ has- his jaw clenching and unclenching, the tension radiating through him like it has been since this all began.

"What _secrets_, Tara?"

"_You_ tell _me_. Ever since my birthday, it's been building- and it got worse after the funeral." She pauses, waits for him to say something, _anything,_ but he's stoically silent as he turns down the familiar road to Teller-Winston. "We used to tell each other everything, Jax-"

"Club business-"

"-is off limits. I get that- although, lately, it seems like every woman in Charming _except _me knows what's going on." He's shaking his head already, so she hurries to make her point. "But it isn't about the club business, Jax; it's not even about whatever's got you so worried that something's going to happen to me, or whatever's got you so twisted up that you have nightmares every night. I'd _never _expect all the details, but you can't even admit there's something going on, to begin with. What the hell am I supposed to _do_ with that?" He glances at her, and Tara wonders if he's aware of the guilt emanating from him, even now.

"I don't know, Tara. I don't know what you think is goin' on here, but I'm a'ight, okay? This whole thing-" he continues on, but Tara doesn't hear any of it. Doesn't care what story he gives her because it doesn't matter; Jax's determined to flounder through whatever this shit is, alone.

"I don't _think_… I _know_ some of _what's goin' on here_, because _you_ told me." Jax shoots her a blank look as they pull onto the lot, and she rolls her eyes. "I heard you, that night you carried me in from the lot; you thought I was asleep, but I_ heard_ you. So don't give me some bullshit about what I_ think_ is going on. I'm trying to be here for you, be what you need… but this needs to work both ways."

There's a long silence as he shuts the Cutlass off; out of the corner of her eye Tara glimpses a few Sons, JT, Gemma, and Trinity heading towards them. The longer the silence stretches out, though, the surer Tara is that he's just waiting her out, hoping he can stall until someone interrupts before he has to figure out what to say. Well, she's _done_ waiting.

"I _love_ you, Jax. No matter where I am, no matter where _you _are, and no matter what happens to us, I love you. That'll never change."

"But…" His eyes, so carefully blank through the entire conversation- even though the rest of him has been tense for miles and miles- suddenly come to life. It strikes Tara that the faint hint of panic is the most emotion he's shown her about any of this shit, at least when he knows she's awake.

"But…" Tara steels herself, adds the final bit of the speech she hadn't finished, earlier. "I think I'm moving out of the clubhouse."


	13. Ch 13

****I own nothing you recognize****

"I _love_ you, Jax. No matter where I am, no matter where _you _are, and no matter what happens to us, I love you. That'll never change."

Jax looks at Tara, then; _really _looks at her for the first time since she'd ventured down this road and into the conversation he'd been successfully avoiding for weeks. Her eyes are flashing, but not in the saucy way he'd come to know and love; her cheeks are flushed, but definitely not for the reason had been an hour ago on the hood of the Cutlass. No, she's pissed, frustrated, and probably a score of other emotions that she hadn't aimed at him since their fight about the crow tattoo; but there's something else, there, too- something he can't identify… and that's what has the beginnings of panic swirling in his gut.

"You love me. _But_…" He lets the rest hang, watches as she seems to reassure herself that whatever she's about to say, whatever conclusion she's come to is the right choice. Tara's not an impulsive person so he knows that whatever she's thinking has been building for some time… and frankly, it scares the shit out of him.

"But…" She blinks, her eyes lingering closed a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and Jax's heart twists. "I think I'm moving out of the clubhouse."

Just like that, Jax's world slows, almost like it had right before whatever-the-fuck-that-was had happened at the funeral; his parents, Trinity, his club brothers walking towards them- who he'd been hurrying along in his mind so he could postpone the conversation long enough to formulate a response that wouldn't lead here, to this bombshell she'd just dropped on him- are suddenly miles away. Tara's gazing at him with serious, green eyes and he has a million questions that are all but snuffed out by the one point she's driven home quite clearly; she's leaving him- to live somewhere else, to get away from him- and she may as well have leaned over and taken a sledgehammer to his chest, the effect is so profound.

Thing is, she_ can't_ leave him, not when they're halfway through the first part of their plan- the plan they'd come up with together, so they could_ stay_ together without losing themselves.

_Stop her, you dumbass! Stop _this_\- you can't let this happen, _his mind is screaming, but the lump in his throat won't allow the words to come out. Suddenly, he's brought back to that first day of school sophomore year, when he'd opened the door of Ope's truck to find Tara sitting there for the first time in seven years. Her presence had hit him with the force of a baseball bat- he hadn't known which was way up, what to say, what to _do_\- and fuck if he doesn't feel that same way now. Except this time, instead of her coming back into his life she's leaving it- and he can't even manage to ask her to what extent.

Is she moving in with Donna or something? Leaving Charming? Going off to some fancy college all the way down in San Diego or- worse- somewhere out East? Before his whirling mind can settle on what to ask first, before he can begin to interpret the expression on her face or the way she's twisting the feather ring he'd given her going on three years ago, now, she's letting out a shaky breath and speaking softly, her eyes dropping to her hands. Christ, it's almost like she can't look him in the eye.

"I talked to Doctor Carlson today, and she said-"

"What, Tara? _She said what_?" Jax manages to croak out; God help him, he can't manage to keep his voice from cracking and he watches as Tara flinches but continues to stare at the little silver ring.

"She said she'd keep me on once school starts, let me stay in the apartment-" Her eyes fly to his, suddenly, and he knows she's accurately anticipated the questions and protests that are now on the tip of his tongue because she rushes on, effectively cutting him off before he can formulate the words. "It's the best _choice_, Jax-"

And then she's cut off because Gemma's opening the passenger side door and their time- insulated from the world around them- is up.

"I see someone finally decided to show up," his mother says, one hand on her hip and the other beckoning Tara to get out of the car, already. _Jesus, she looks pissed, too._ For her part, Tara shoots Jax a nervous glance before smiling, weakly, up at Gemma.

"Sorry, Gemma. Jax had time to take me out driving this afternoon, so I took him up on it." Gemma's expression morphs from one of annoyance to a triumphant smirk as she bends down to peer across Tara to Jax.

"I see- I guess all it took to get him off his ass was someone else showin' up to take his place-"

Gemma halts then, the smirk fading as her eyes flicker from Jax's face- which he can only imagine is still sporting the stunned, broken expression it's worn for the past five minutes- to his hands, still clutching the wheel so tightly that he wonders, irrationally, if it might bend. She raises a critical eyebrow but continues, soldiering on valiantly despite the thick tension that hangs over the occupants of the Cutlass.

"C'mon, sweetheart. The guys from Fresno are here, and JT's gonna want to start grillin' after Church; it's just you, Donna, Precious, and one of the other girls, so we got to get a move on." Evidently unwilling to pick a fight- at least with Gemma- Tara nods, but as she slides out of the Cutlass, she shoots him a desperate, apologetic look that makes his stomach clench.

"We'll talk later, Jax, okay?" Her eyes are wide, tinted with regret and- Jax thinks, though he may be imagining things- tears; then she's blinking hard, swallowing harder, and turning to follow his mother into the clubhouse, Trinity grabbing her hand on the way.

JT's been hovering in the distance and lighting a cigarette- the first Jax has seen him smoke in quite a while. He watches Tara pass then turns his attention to Jax, who's now doing his best to compose himself- the last thing Jax needs is for his father to ask a bunch of fuckin' questions; JT rounds the back end of the Cutlass and waits until Jax has slid out of the driver's' seat, locked the doors and pocketed the keys before he speaks.

"Forgot your kutte, Jackson- and you're gonna need it, we got a meeting with the Fresno brothers we want you and Ope to sit in on." Jax is in the midst of kicking himself for forgetting the kutte in the back seat and moving to unlock the back door before it hits him- is his father suggesting he sit in on Church? JT accurately reads the look on his face and chuckles, a bit.

"It ain't Church, really- we don't allow outsiders or Prospects to sit in on that, and tonight we'll have both; just… some sharing of information everyone involved needs to know." JT pauses to take a deep drag of his cigarette before finally addressing the elephant in the room, or at least one of the many… Christ, Jax feels like he's been living with a goddamn herd of elephants in his room all summer.

"I don't know what's up with you and the Doc but I bet I can make a fair stab at it." Miserably, Jax nods, unsure where to begin; then, his dilemma is solved by his father's next words. "Would I be guessin' right if I figured it has somethin' to do with the same shit you were dealin' with at Mo and Keith's funeral?" Another nod as Jax avoids his father's eyes, shrugging on his kutte and accepting the weight it's seemed to carry since Rogue River. JT sighs, "You'll remember, then, that I told ya to unload on someone- Tara, Ope, myself-"

"I talked to Ope, Dad. I'm fine."

"Not if it's causin' problems for you and your girl, you're not." JT takes another contemplative drag, then shakes his head. "What I was about to get at, though, was that I remember tellin' ya to talk to one of us about what you could, when the time was right. But now… _now_ you gotta suck it up, Prospect. We need to go meet with brothers from another charter, so you got to get outta your head and listen, put aside everything that can distract you from what's at hand."

"I've_ been _doin' that, Dad- I've done nothin' _but _push her aside for the sake of the club for the last-" JT holds up a hand, his gaze growing fierce.

"Now I didn't say to put _Tara_ aside, so don't twist my words up in your head, Jackson- because that's what you've been doin'. If there's one thing I learned from all the shit we've been through these past several years, its that the last goddamn thing you need to do when you sit at that table is forget about your family, let 'em become second to the business we take care of in there. Family- and I'm includin' Tara because I think you've loved her since before you even knew what the hell that meant-_ family's_ exactly what you need to consider when you're makin' the really big decisions in there. Everything you do affects them, so if you let yourself forget that, you're on the wrong goddamn path, Boy… ain't nobody that knows that better than I do." JT sighs, lifting a road-worn boot to stub out his cigarette. He flicks it away into the darkness through the chain link fence before regarding Jax again with serious eyes.

"But you bring your outside troubles _into_ Church with you, every last man in that room knows you're distracted. The shit with Tommy, with your Ma… let's just say I've been there, and I let all of those things seep into who I was as a Son and who I was as the Pres. Now, I trust everyone of 'em that's currently wearin' a Redwood patch, but it ain't always been that way… and you saw for yourself what happens when someone takes advantage of that distraction." Even years removed from Clay's betrayal, the mere thought of the man has Jax's jaw setting, and JT chuckles and claps him on the shoulder.

"Well, nobody can ever tell me you ain't loyal… C'mon. Let's go get this meeting goin' so we can figure out what's goin' on with your girl… and hopefully how to fix it." Jax manages a small smile as his father tosses his arm around his shoulder and leads him towards the clubhouse. "You just let this shit go until then, put on a good face, alright?"

If there's one thing Jax can call himself practiced at, it's attempting to put on a good face.

* * *

""I want to thank our Fresno brothers for comin' out here on such short notice to hit us with an update."

JT's sitting at the head of the table, fingers tented, the gavel resting on its block at his elbow; over the summer, Jax had already had the chance to see his father in his role as President more times than he can count- but this…_ this_ was John Teller, President of the Sons of Anarchy, Redwood Original, Mother Charter of all of SOA in his element- gavel at his right, Piney at his left. For a moment, Jax can't help but see he and Ope in those chairs, years from now. How old would they be, after their fathers had stepped down- how many more miles on their bikes or bullets through the guns they hadn't been called upon to use, yet? Would they have kids? _Will we even have old ladies by then_, Jax wonders, bitterly, the events in the Cutlass burrowing their way into his consciousness. Then, his father's scanning the room, his eyes lingering briefly on Jax- standing at the rear of the Chapel- before moving on to Opie beside him.

_Game face, Teller. Keep your shit together._

"Brewster, if you'll go on and fill us in, we'll get this show on the road." Nodding amicably from his post leaning against the wall near Piney's shoulder, Brewster clears his throat, sends his gaze sweeping across the confines of the Chapel before addressing the room at large.

"Heard back from the county finally, about Maureen and McGee's accident. Apparently, they take their sweet goddamn time when it comes to investigating the deaths of the _negative element_, as they put it_._" Brewster scoffs, his voice tinted with disgust. "Anyway, there weren't a lot of surprises at first; Maureen's tox screen came up red for booze, which might be why they didn't take a close look at their evidence from the scene right away. Guess it seemed too open-and-shut, probably figured she'd just lost control and wrecked. But we got friends in the department and they brought in a guy from Vegas or somewhere to take a look as a favor to the club. What he found was.. concerning."

"Long story short: based on the way the tracks line up, the angle Maureen's car was at when it left the road, and the dent in the side none of us can recall bein' there the week leadin' up to the crash… the guy thinks she was run off the road."

_Holy shit. _It's like a bad dream, crossed with some pretty fuckin' awful deja vu; JT had been run off the road, ambushed by some Mayans, and it had been the beginning of an enormous cascade of bullshit the club's still recovering from. Instantly, Jax's eyes fly to his father but as usual, it's near-impossible to tell if either he or Piney are having the same thoughts. Less stoic are the rest of the Sons, alternately cursing and shooting uncomfortable, irascible glances across the table.

"There's more; guy said there was some paint transfer on the side- best he can tell, it's black diamond coat, matches what GM's been usin' on its higher end shit these past few years. Y'know, your Buick Regals, Olds 98s, pretty much anything Cadillac." Brewster pauses, lets SAMCRO come to its own realizations as the information sinks in- though, what realizations those might be, Jax doesn't have a clue.

"That's why I wanted you all here, boys," JT interjects above the low rumble. "Keith and Mo meetin' their end because of Mo's drinkin', well… that's one thing. But a brother and his old lady gettin' taken out on our watch is another." A chorus of agreement rises from around the table, from SAMCRO and Fresno brothers alike, and takes several moments to die down.

"That paint's the key, then, I ain't got no doubt about that," Bobby muses, stroking his beard. "Question is, what does their expert suggest we do?"

"Not much," Brewster says, simply, shrugging. "He ain't officially on the investigation and Fresno County ain't about to go diggin' too deep into the deaths of two Irish ex-pat outlaws, especially when we ain't got another car in mind to match the paint to."

"I wouldn'ae say tha', brotha," Chibs interjects, leaning forward in his seat. "Cammy Hayes, well… he's been toolin' around in tha' shiny black Buick ever since we've been dealin' with 'im." His eyes flit around the table. "Unless one of ye knows someone else what could want a couple o' refugees from the Cause dead… and drives a black Buick, Olds or Cadillac." Heads are nodding all around the table and Piney's grumbling about the _goddamn Irish_ when Jax's heart skips a beat.

_Holy, holy shit._ He _does_ know someone else who'd said they wanted Maureen dead, at least once. Someone else who drives a black luxury car. Someone who-

"Jackson and Opie here are sittin' in on this meetin' because we had to call on 'em to fish us out of the mess this whole deal turned into."

His father's voice, speaking his name, prevents Jax's mind from traveling down that road- towards the unthinkable- for the time being, as JT addresses the Fresno brothers, gathered near Jax along the walls.

"And it's because of what went down in Rogue River that I came to the same conclusion Chibs did. This Cameron Hayes character- he's the new associate the Kings sent over to shore up the end of our contract. First goddamn time Rogue River even met him and he was goin' off-script; we had a little mix-up with the cash we owed 'em to get right with the IRA and step back from the gun-running operation... and his reaction is to take women and children hostage,"

"Yup, we heard about that shit, John." The Fresno VP, a tall, dark haired man Jax knows only as Russell- though he's got no earthly idea whether it's his first or last name- offers grimly. "What we _didn't_ hear was what was done about it."

"Took me until the next afternoon to get ahold of the Kings whether it was due to the time difference or the fuckin' war, I can't say; according to them, they didn't know shit about the hostage situation... _or_ sanction it. The truth is always smoky with them, and what they're _thinkin' _is even smokier. We're outta guns, boys, and the Irish ain't happy about it- but there ain't a whole lot they can do at this point with no supply. So, would it make sense for 'em to order their guy to take drastic measures to get the money we'd promised with no indication we were anything but ready to pay? Put his neck on the line, like that? _Maybe._ But is it likely?" JT looks doubtful, and Jax can see several heads nodding around the table.

"The priority at the time was gettin' 'em their payoff so we could close out our business, and that meant doin' things their way for the time being- that's the only reason Monroe didn't beat him to death when it was all over." Jax shudders, internally, at the memory of the way the Rogue River President had clung to his wife and his girls all too briefly before stalking behind the bar and emerging with a baseball bat, hell-bent on ending Cameron Hayes. It had taken JT, Piney and Bobby to talk sense into him, while Tig and Kozik had shuttled Hayes quickly out the back door.

"Question is, though, did Hayes take a little trip down to our neck of the woods the next day so's he could try and off Maureen, McGee, or both? Because to me, the timing of him losin' his shit and goin' off-script is pretty fuckin' convenient." Brewster states, as placidly as ever, glancing at the other Fresno patches he'd brought with him. "Fresno ain't had a bit of trouble with the Irish or anyone else in over a goddamn year, but in one weekend Rogue River's queen and her two little girls get held at gunpoint and a couple of refugees from the IRA get forced off the road? I ain't buyin' that the two weren't connected."

"You may be right, Brew, but we don't have proof." Piney rumbles, turning his meaty palms up, helplessly.

"The paint's a match, I'm sure of it. What I'm sayin' is that we can't let this shit go; neither one of our clubs-"

"You're forgettin' that your borrowed expert is already back in Vegas, and doesn't have the support of Fresno County. You're _also_ forgettin' that Cameron Hayes is back in Ireland deliverin' our money," JT muses, quietly.

"And _you're_ forgettin' that not only has this deal landed one of the First Nine in prison, but that it required both your boy and Piney's to jump into the club feet-first, before you claimed you wanted 'em to." briefly, Brewster's eyes land on Jax, slide to Opie, before fixing on JT again. "You also seem to be forgettin' that your girl coulda just as easily been in that car with your… Maureen."

"That's where you're wrong, brother," JT says, calmly, evenly, but Jax can see the dangerous glitter in his eyes, hear the slight edge in his voice that perhaps the Fresno President does not. "I ain't hardly been able to think about anything_ but_ what could've happened to my little girl that night." He pauses, his eyes softening a bit as his glance shifts to Jax, the slightest- almost imperceptible- nod assuring Jax that while he wasn't about to express his regret about Jax and Opie's involvement in the situation in front of the entire charter and half of Fresno's, he hadn't forgotten, either. Brewster relaxes against the wall once more, nodding, respectfully, as JT continues.

"Now, that's not to say we don't have circumstantial evidence, even without the paint. We had Hap and one of the Rogue River guys follow Cameron- sort of an insurance policy to make sure our money wound up in the right hands." JT nodded at Happy, who'd been sitting in Otto's place ever since his arrest- although, to Jax's knowledge, his father hadn't picked another Sergeant at Arms. The gruff biker nods at JT and relays his information, his hoarse voice filling the room.

"That jerkoff took his sweet damn time driving down from Oregon, probably skirtin' the cops. I lost him just north of Merced some time on Sunday afternoon, though- slippery little motherfucker managed to lose himself in some traffic. Spent half the night lookin' for him, then the second half waitin' at the house the Irish keep in Stockton- not a goddamn soul there. Didn't catch back up with him until he turned up at Oakland International early Monday mornin', all ready to catch the cargo hopback to Belfast." Shit, that's probably the most Jax has ever heard Happy say in one sitting.

"So that's all of Sunday afternoon and evenin' he had to locate Keith and Maureen and cause that accident," Bobby muses, slowly.

"Well,_ most _of the evening- we didn't get word until maybe ten, ten thirty. And they'd been down in the ravine for a little, too," corrects the Fresno VP.

"He headed off towards Fresno instead of O-town or Stockton, though, and wasn't seen until the next morning," Brewster insists. "That's enough to prove he wasn't doin' what he _should've_ been doin', and left him plenty of time to cause that accident." He turns towards the head of the table, a determined look settling on his face. "So the question is, Brother- how do we go about retaliation, seein' as how three different charters have a score to settle with this prick?"

"Well, _someone's_ gotta fuckin' kill the guy-" interjects Tig, speaking up for the first time, and Jax isn't surprised to see Happy, Bobby, and a few of the Fresno guys agreeing. Only Kozik, Piney, and Chibs seem unsettled, uncertain.

JT sighs, settling deeper into the chair- the weight of the situation clearly outlined around his eyes, his mouth; iit occurs to Jax that while he'd been playing at being SAMCRO- being the President, holding the gavel- since he was a kid, he'd never really thought about what that meant. Tempering the extremes, finding the right course of action that didn't alienate any brothers- or get anyone killed- knowing not only what to say, but how to say it… those are just some of the aspects of the very delicate balance, the very narrow tightrope his father walks every day.

"I know this is all addin' up quickly, and into somethin' you all think we've got to deal with… and maybe we do-"

_"Maybe?_" Bobby mutters, and JT raises a hand to point- behind Bobby- at the sign that's hung on the wall in the Chapel ever since Jax can remember.

"Brains before bullets, gentlemen." The room sobers, calms, as even Tig stops looking like he's going to leap out of his chair and ride off, guns blazing. The muttering ceases, the conversation dies down, and every eye in the room is on John Teller. "If Cameron really did act without the Kings' blessing, they could decide to deal with him personally, with one of their own enforcers."

"And we all know wha' tha' means…" Chibs spits, grimly, gesturing to his own face- though Jax can't manage to muster up much dread at the thought of Cameron Hayes- who he'd seen only a handful of times, and all of those with a gun pointed to a five year old's head- receiving his very own Glasgow smile.

"Fact remains, the IRA doesn't take kindly to its retribution being handed out by someone else- especially without permission. We step over the line, we could be in a whole world of shit, and all the work that's gone into puttin' distance between the Sons and the shot callers in Belfast is gone."

"So what are you suggestin', JT? We sit on our asses and wait until this guy shows up stateside again?" Bobby speaks slowly, deliberately, and Jax knows that his respect for JT is what's led to such a measured response.

"I'd say that's just about right," interjects Piney, his voice rumbling across the table, and Opie shifts next to Jax. "We got some time- assuming the Irish don't make this cat disappear on their own- but we also got some footwork to do."

"Like?"

"Provin' our suspicions about the paint transfer on Mo's car… and I got just the guy to help us with that." JT says, confidently. 'We ain't never been about retaliation without evidence, and it ain't gonna start now- not when so much is ridin' on this relationship with the IRA being friendly, but closed. Monroe couldn't make the ride down here, but he and Rogue River agreed to reopen this conversation when Hayes sets foot on American soil again… and our two clubs' involvement hinges on the results of that paint test." He gestures between himself and Brewster, who nods, reluctantly. "For now, we keep the Irish off our backs, get our proof, and then go from there." He sighs and picks up the gavel, seems to test the weight of it in his hand before continuing.

"This ain't an official vote, per se- since we got prospects and another charter in here... but I'd still like to make sure we're all on the same page. All in favor?' A chorus of ayes rises, filling the room and joining Jax's own- his first vote, ever, in SAMCRO even though it isn't official. "Opposed?" Though Tig looks pained, and Brewster impatient, not a word is spoken before the gavel lands on the block with a resounding crack.

"The other piece of business is Otto," JT continues, leaning forward in his chair, "and since it's just some lawyer shit, most of ya can go ahead on and grab a beer while we finish up." Brewster nods, swiftly, but instead of heading for the Chapel doors, angles his head at JT.

"Otto still over in County?"

"Yeah… and it ain't lookin' good. With Otto's priors, and with Clay gettin' himself killed while out on bail a few years ago, the judge wasn't feelin' too charitable; it took almost sixty days for him to deny bail, and the DA's talkin' triple homicide even though he got jumped." Brewster whistles, low,

"Shit. Any swayin' the judge?" JT just shrugs.

"WIth the way this guy's lookin', Otto's gonna be in Chino even longer than Lenny." Shit, this _is_ bad, then; Lenny Janowitz had been in prison since Jax was a kid, and he hasn't been allowed visitation since he and Ope had started prospecting. The thought of years in a cell, without even the privilege of a cellmate or someone to come visit from time to time settles deep into his gut and Jax only has to look around at the rest of the Chapel to realize that Otto's weighing heavily on everyone in the room.

JT turns his attention to Jax and Opie, then, nodding his head towards the door- _guess the welcome mat's being rolled up_. "Alright, prospects- go ahead and set these guys up with some drinks and then fire up that grill. We'll be ten minutes, tops."

Walking out of the Chapel feels odd- like he'd been playing at being a grown-up or something, and is only now returning to his real life. Idly, Jax wonders how long all of this- being part of the club, what he's wanted since he was no more than five years old- is going to feel surreal to him. He smiles as he's taken back to being eight years old for a second time today- meetings around a plywood table in Tara's playhouse, banging a hammer instead of a gavel, rushing off to throw his arm around his old lady as they walked to their bikes.

Only trouble is, his almost-old-lady's nowhere to be seen at the moment- only a couple of the weekend regulars can be seen milling around the clubhouse, waiting for the end of Church; idly, Jax realizes that this is probably the first time he hopes beyond hope that his mother had gotten to Tara, dragged her off somewhere to help out. It isn't ideal, but it's sure as shit better than the alternative- Tara taking off somewhere on her own; Jax knows his girl and knows that the more time she has to worry, to turn this situation and the thought of moving out over in her mind, the more likely she is to do something drastic… like leave him.

In retrospect, Jax thinks- even as he pops the top off a few beers and dumps whiskey in a couple glasses for the Fresno crew- he'd been stupid to think he could keep her totally in the dark about everything, and a fucking idiot not to realize that he was pushing her towards the edge. And, as usual these last few months, club business and the shit going on in his own head had prevented them from really talking, the way they used to. He sighs, tossing the caps into the bucket- watches one bounce off the side and roll into the black void under the bar.

"Jax?"

Opie's voice breaks into his thoughts The Fresno brothers are seated at a couple tables already, and Ope's already on the opposite side of the bar, digging his smokes out of his pocket.

"JT said to light the grill- you ready?"

"Yeah, I guess." Opie raises his eyebrows- probably at Jax's flat tone, or the way he'd been standing behind the bar, lost in thought- but glances at Brewster and the boys and says nothing.

It's not until they're outside in front of the oversized SOA grill, with Jax looking on as Opie- unquestionably the pyro ever since they'd stolen those fireworks as kids- stacks the charcoal, that either of them speak again.

"So what's your take on all that Cameron shit?" Ope's eyes never leave the interior of the grill, his hands never falter, but Jax has seen this side of his friend before- seen him work, diligently, on something while talking about some life-altering shit. In fact, the more intently Ope seems to be focusing on what he's doing, the more sure Jax is, usually, that he's put a lot of thought into whatever it is he's saying.

"I don't know, Ope- I really don't. Why tell us any of that at all, if JT knew all along Cameron's back in Ireland and his hands were tied? Not that I'm gonna complain about bein' on the right side of the Chapel doors for once." Opie nods, slowly, setting a thin tube of paper alight, then touching it to the small pile of charcoal.

"Piney said he and JT figured since we'd gotten sucked into the bullshit because of how things went down with Otto, we should be around to see the end of it-"

"It ain't the end, though. It won't be over until they find out for sure who ran Maureen off the road, and somethin' comes of the situation- retaliation, bro." Christ, that same wave of nausea washes over him at the reminder that- as sure as some of SAMCRO seems to be that it's Cameron- they don't know, officially, who'd been the driver of that car. That there's someone else who'd hated Maureen…

_Shake it off, Teller. There's no way JT would have let this get brought to the club if he had any doubts… is there?_

"I've known your old man just as long as I've known you, Jax; I think this was his way of tellin' you the club's _on_ this shit- everything that's had you twisted up all summer, it's bein' handled. You ain't said much to me about it except that once at Luann's studio, but I know you were lettin' it get to you." There's a long pause as Ope seems to study the ever-growing flame, slowly spreading to each briquette. "If it's gettin' to you, then it's gettin' to Tara-"

"That's a fuckin' understatement," Jax scoffs. He takes a minute to swallow- choke down the frustration, the pain quickly rising in his chest- before continuing, his eyes fixed on his friend. "I don't know what she's told Donna, what Donna's told you…" _Fuck, man, don't break in front of Ope..._ "But she told me tonight she was movin' out of the clubhouse, gonna go stay in some apartment somewhere."

Opie's head snaps up at this- he looks at Jax for the first time since they'd come out here, ignoring the steadily brightening briquettes in favor of running a hand over his rapidly growing beard.

"Jesus, Jax... I'm sorry." Opie's silent a moment, as if unsure what to say, then turns his attention back to the fire. "Donna… she hasn't talked to Tara much lately- been busy at work. But we crashed at Piney's last night so we could be together, and she told me she wished we could make it work at the clubhouse like the two of you have. She does that, every now and then- says she wishes we could've moved in together after graduation… so whatever happened,Tara didn't tell Donna. At least not before last night" Jax nods, miserably, unsure if all of this being a new development to everyone- including him- is comforting… or just the opposite.

"We had a good time this afternoon- took her out drivin' up at the cabin… but as soon as we were headed back into Charming shit went south. Said she knew what's been eatin' at me lately- not the club details but the gist of things- and how it's changed us, come between us." Jax stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs, slightly.

"You never talked to her about any of it, did you?" Ope doesn't even wait for an answer, just snorts derisively as Jax begins to shake his head. "Yuuuup." he grunts, closing the grate and taking a step back. "Sounds like some shit you'd pull… and sounds just like how I'd expect Knowles to react to it."

They stand there watching the heat rise off the grill, transforming the metal signs behind it into wavering spectres in the rapidly descending dusk. Jax trying- and failing- to sort through the thousand and one thoughts flooding his mind, Ope… well, who the hell ever knew what Ope was thinking. The coals are glowing red before either speaks, and it's Opie who breaks the silence, fishing a cigarette out of his kutte before offering one to Jax.

"Y'know… you've had it made, Brother- livin' with Tara at the clubhouse and before that skirtin' around her old man the way you did. Donna and I, we got to lie our asses off to her parents, risk 'em catchin' her sneakin' out one night or figurin' out that she hasn't been sleepin' over at Tara's this whole time. We're both eighteen, and she's got to lie to her parents to be with me- how shitty d'ya think that feels?" Jax starts, guiltily- he'd never stopped to think about how Opie and Donna were making it work. "I mean, the reason she's been workin' like a dog all summer is to save up for an apartment- exactly what you're losin' your shit about Tara doin'-"

"It ain't like she's leavin' her father's house to get her freedom, though, Ope- she's leavin' _me_." Opie's eyes raise to the heavens as he lights his cigarette, exhaling perhaps a little more violently than usual.

"Christ, Jax, did she _say_ she was leavin' you? Or did she say she was leavin' the _clubhouse_? I know it's not what you wanna hear, but this ain't the worst case scenario, bro, and it sure as hell ain't all about you."

Jax nods, somehow both agitated by Opie's words and calmed, a bit- brought back to himself but still unsure of Tara's intentions. If he's being honest with himself, it mostly just fuckin' hurts that after all this time, after all their steps forward, towards a future he'd been almost sure included Tara as his old lady- hell, his wife- she's taking two steps back. He'd been so sure of her- of_ them_\- for so long, that the thought that she might not want him is a new and all-too-unwelcome possibility.

Headlights cut into his reverie, seeming to bore into his skull as the car climbs over the hump just outside the gate, then veering off to park as a second set follows behind- Gemma's Caddy followed by Donna's Chevy. The occupants of both vehicles linger inside for a brief moment- seemingly gathering items to unload- and Jax doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Tara's familiar form ducks out of Donna's car, bending to retrieve a rather large container of something from the back seat.

"Girls're back-" Opie points out, rather uselessly, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the coals.

"Yup." is all Jax can say in return, grateful that this observation, for a change, requires no other response. He's spent a good couple months censoring himself, tempering his reactions to any and everything around his club brothers, Opie, Tara, and even his parents- sure that whatever the flow of words would be if he'd allowed them unfettered access into his state of mind would have veered directly into whiny-little-bitch territory. Now that Tara's in his line of sight again, the relief that seems to rush into his very veins, prickling into even his fingertips, doesn't falter, even when her footsteps seem to do just that at the sight of him.

Determined, her face set, Tara picks up the pace again, trailing behind Donna, Gemma, Precious, and another blonde he recognizes as a weekend regular.

"Hey, baby." Gemma's voice is soft, hesitant- and completely unlike her, especially considering the whole matriarch persona she usually dons here at the clubhouse. She doesn't make another move toward Jax, just continues towards the clubhouse door. Her hands are full of serving trays- though the way she's eying him, almost cautiously, tells him that isn't the only reason she isn't stopping to hassle him. He's wondering just how much she'd had to pry before Tara had admitted at least some of what was going on between them when Gemma's back to herself, calling, sharply, over her shoulder,

"Leave that canvas bag on one of the picnic tables, and I'll get Bobby's ass out here to season the meat. Prospects, if you're done watchin' that grill heat up, go on and get the steaks out of the back of the Caddy, would ya?" With a last glance at Jax, she pushes through the clubhouse door and inside, leaving him to stare after her for a brief moment until he hears the footsteps beside him.

Even without turning his head, even with all of this shit between them and the drastic turnaround today had taken, Jax is still hyper-aware of Tara's presence- the way the warmth radiating from her does the opposite of what makes sense, biologically, and raises the hairs on his arms. He turns to find her clutching a large metal bowl to her chest, green eyes wide and practically glowing in the warm light from the grill; she bites her lip and looks away briefly before managing to speak.

"Can… can we talk after dinner, Jax? Gemma needs my help right now, and I'm sure the guys have a list of shit for you to do, but after-"

"'Course, Babe," he's answering before she can even finish what she's saying, and the relief is so palpable in her eyes, her demeanor so different than it had been in the Cutlass earlier- hesitant and soft, now, instead of the mixture of dull, flat, resignation and weary determination she'd worn earlier- that he actually gives her a once-over, checking for other signs that something's amiss. Finding none, he feels the relief wash over him, reminds himself of the other thing she'd said in the Cutlass before she'd cut him at the knees- _I love you, Jax_.

Jax resists the familiar urge to touch her- to rest a reassuring hand at the small of her back, maybe, let a finger skim along the soft skin there… or to tuck the skein of silky dark hair currently hanging in her eyes behind her ear and let the backs of his fingers drift down the smooth column of her neck. Instead, he gently pulls the bowl from her arms; she gives it over to him without a word and trails after him into the clubhouse clutching the serving pieces she'd been carrying. The place is still empty save for the Fresno brothers at the far table and when Tara indicates a table already bearing the trays Gemma had been holding earlier, Jax sets the bowl down and shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure what else to do with them.

"Thank you," is all Tara says, her voice barely above a murmur, the faint vestiges of a smile- distant though it is, gracing her lips. It suddenly strikes Jax that on any normal occasion she'd have that big beautiful smile for him- the one that never fails to make his heart clench- except this time it's the absence of it that's doing things to his heart. Somewhere behind him, the clubhouse door opens and closes and the blondes brush past them on their way to the kitchen- but they barely register; Tara, however, reluctantly lets her eyes slide towards the sound of Gemma's voice and Jax knows their time, at least for now, is over. Unable to resist her for a second time in as many minutes, he bends, quickly, to graze her cheek with his lips, resting his hand in his favorite place just below her jaw so he can feel the way her pulse picks up it's thrumming against his fingers. It's over all too quickly- he's stepping backwards towards the door and she's hurrying towards the kitchen and his mother- and Jax isn't even sure who'd pulled away first.

Jax passes Donna on his way back out to the lot and for probably the first time since the night he'd met her- when she'd been the shy new girl, nervous about meeting Ope's childhood friends- she's silent, sending him a look he can't interpret over the boxes stacked in her arms. Back on the lot Ope, too, is silent- though Jax has come to expect that much, at least from him- unloading various sized string-and-paper packages of steaks from the trunk of the Caddy and stacking them on the picnic table near the grill. Sighing, Jax joins him, trying to make out any new scratches or dents on the sleek car in the rapidly descending darkness. _Nothing._ Jax breathes a little easier as they transfer the obscene amount of steaks to the picnic table, and he even manages to make a crack about porterhouses that makes Opie snicker.

"Yeah, you wish, bro; to hear Tara tell it, porterhouse is probably stretchin' it-" Ope's saying, just as the clubhouse door bangs open and Tig, Kozik, and Chibs spill onto the lot in the midst of a good-natured scuffle; immediately behind them are Piney and JT, followed by the rest of the Sons- both Fresno and Redwood patches. Everyone's laughing, engaging in friendly banter and shit-talking, and Jax can't help watching them with envy; arguably, they'd just received even more information than he himself had. Plus most of them had issues- actually, the word issues is probably a goddamn understatement- with old ladies, baby mamas, ex-wives, you name it. Shit, every single one of those guys has fuckin' mess of a personal life_ plus_ all the added club shit, and you'd never know it. So why the fuck can't he hold his shit together?

"Ay, Prospect- go grab me a beer."

"You got it," both Jax and Opie answer at once, and Tig pounces immediately, releasing Kozik's head from under his arm.

"You two are adorable, you really are-"

"Now don't go mixin' up the Saturday nigh' specials with our little bitch-boys, Tiggy-"

"Naw, naw… I mean, the croweaters give a great blow job, but I swear to_ God_ a beer just tastes better when a Prospect's the one pullin' it. Ain't that right Koz?" Kozik straightens his cut and eyes Jax, no doubt remembering their confrontation earlier in the day at the vet clinic.

"Sounds about right, yeah. And now that I think about it, I could use a beer, too." Grinning, Kozik pops the cap from the bottle already in his hand and drains half of it, his eyes glittering mischievously.

"Alright, alright." JT chuckles, stepping between Kozik and Jax. "I got some business with this one but you can have him back in about fifteen minutes, boys. Ope-"

"Round of beers comin' up, JT."

"Good. Then you can head back out here and help Bobby with the grillin' until I get back; these steaks are from the Germans and Gemma'll have a shitfit if Piney charbroils another two hundred bucks worth o' meat." The club chuckles as JT's eyes fall on Jax, finally. "Alright, Prospect… after you."

Jax stalks inside the clubhouse, empty except for the soft laughter emanating from the kitchen; he recognizes Tara's voice almost immediately, though he can't make out what she's saying. He barely notices JT pausing to swipe a bottle of something from the bar, so focused is he on the doorway of the kitchen, the neon light inside flickering just enough that the image of a moth to a flame that's buried somewhere deep in the back of his mind surfaces... and for the moment he doesn't give a shit how pathetic that makes him.

Tara's back is to him as he slows to a halt outside the kitchen doorway, the sweeping waterfall of her hair covering the slender shoulders he knows are bared by her tank top- the very one he'd peeled off her body on the hood of her car... a moment that seems like ages ago. Her ass in those tight denim shorts is, as always, nothing short of mouth-watering; but then she laughs softly again and all his desire is quickly supplanted by sheer longing- the hope that she'll turn around and look up at him with those wide, green eyes. Suddenly, his brain- spinning wildly to find some sort of resolution- lands squarely on a decision… to hell with his mother and her old lady expectations, and to hell with the club and being a beer bitch for the night. He's taking Tara by the hand and dragging her down the hallway to the apartment, locking the door behind them and not emerging until they've hashed this all out-

Then JT's gripping his shoulder, silently moving him past the kitchen and down the hall to the ladder that leads to the rooftop, the only sound their shoes thudding softly on the metal rungs. It takes the whole journey journey to tamp down the urge to turn back and follow through with the reckless plan he'd just developed, and they're sitting on a couple of milk crates on the back side of the clubhouse roof before he's resigned to having yet another conversation about the situation instead of taking action. JT tilts the bottle at Jax- Jameson… _Jesus Christ._ He takes a swig, makes a halfhearted attempt at masking his wince before he realizes his father's chuckling.

"You've been dippin' into my booze since you were old enough to know who Jack Daniels was, and you're gonna turn your nose up at some real Irish whiskey?" Nonplussed, Jax raises his chin a bit, which only makes JT laugh harder. "Ya don't think your Ma noticed havin' to order at least one extra bottle of Jack every week from the time you were fifteen? Christ, it was probably two by the time you and the Doc started crashing here, weekends."

Jax can't help the way the smile slides off his face any more than he can help the flash of a memory that burrows its way into his brain-

_"I love you Jackson… I'll never stop."_

"Stay…"

"'_M'right here baby…"_

_"No- stay with me… here."_

He'd asked her to stay at the clubhouse with him, Tara had answered him with nothing but a smile, and he'd gone to sleep that night on top of the fucking world; a high school graduate spending his first night in his own place- as much as the clubhouse could be one's own- body slowly settling from the literal highs she'd just brought him to. His girl had all but agreed to stay with him, always. Of course, she'd had her conditions- some of which he guesses, now, that he'd not met- and it had taken her own father slinging accusations at her to push her to finally fully move into the apartment with him… but she'd done it and it had been everything he'd barely dared to dream of since he was sixteen.

"Son? Where'd you go? I… lost ya for a second." Startled out of his thoughts for the umpteenth time today, it takes Jax a moment to land on what was so strange about what JT had just said; he'd called Jax _Son_\- instead of Prospect- maybe for the first time since the day of the funeral.

"Just... " sighing, Jax runs his hands through his hair, pausing to let them tangle at the base of his scalp, the slight pressure there serving to clear his head of the last traces of Tara's earlier assault on his memories. "Just thinkin', I guess."

"Well, thinkin' is a _good_ thing, Jackson. Not bein' able to get out of your own head, well… _that's_ a problem; one I know all too well. But we ain't up here to talk about me, and I already said my piece on what can happen when your club sees you're twisted up."

"Yeah, you did."

"And I'm proud of you, Son- I know that was a lot of goddamn information to unload on you at the table, but you handled it like a man. I also noticed you've been doin' your best to do what's expected of ya as a Prospect, and as a legacy. So it ain't about the club, is it?" Jax just shakes his head, unable to keep his jaw from working as his father studies him a moment. Then- "You said you talked to Ope, but why don't you tell me?"

Jax reaches for the bottle dangling from JT's fingers, and takes a slow swallow, letting the burn of the whiskey warm his throat and settle into his belly. Somehow, the warmth seems to clear a path for the words he hadn't wanted to say, the shit he hadn't wanted to admit to- Maureen's liquid courage becoming a reality as he slides further back onto the milk crate.

"Rogue River fucked me up, Dad," Jax says, simply, studying the green bottle in his hands. "The ride was fine, the pickup too- even though Otto had just gotten put away. Shit…" he chuckles, despite himself, "the adrenaline, the rush of it all- it was incredible. Finishing the job and then riding onto the Rogue River lot, provin' ourselves… " He trails off, unsure what else to say, but when he glances up at his father, JT's wearing a knowing smile.

"I felt the same way after my first run. Hell, I _still _feel that way when shit pans out for the club, especially now that we're workin' towards goin' legit. That was an important deal, and you and Ope really stepped up when shit went south."

"That's the shit that messed with me, though- that fuckin' Irish, holdin' a gun to that little girl's head… it's like the image is burned into my brain. Except…" Christ, how is he supposed to get through this part without his old man finding a padded room somewhere? Jax swallows, reminds himself his father's simply waiting, patiently, to receive his truth. "Except in my head, those little girls are Trinity or maybe my own kids; the Rogue River President's old lady is Tara. Then Maureen died, and I started havin' these dreams, almost every night.' JT's brows furrow with concern, prompting Jax to spill out the rest in a rush, eager to finish this shit.

"Tara's dead and I'm in jail- or prison, or in a cell somewhere, I don't know- all I know is that she's dead and they're havin' the funeral without me. Always ends the same way though- this woman, taunting me about her death, tellin' me how it's my fault and I _know _it is, Dad- there ain't no doubt in my mind about that. She taunts me 'til I can't take it anymore, until I just want to die, want it all to be over… and then I'm on my bike, realizing it'll all be over soon." JT winces, a haunted look flitting across his face. "I guess that's usually when I wake up." _There._ It's all out there- the entirety of his fucked up dream, minus the fact that the first time he'd had it, he'd been wide awake at a funeral, had gone into some sort of freaky sub-conscious state.

JT regards him for a beat, seemingly unsure of what to say, then wraps his fingers around the bottle of Jameson himself and tugs it from Jax's hands to take a long pull… then another. HIs voice is hoarse when he speaks, and Jax can't help wondering if that's an effect of the whiskey or their conversation.

"Those thoughts- the dreams, even- those are normal for people who've witnessed situations like the one up in Oregon, Jackson. I don't know what'll make you feel better, but while the worry don't ever go away completely- not with the life _we _live- you do get used to it. It becomes… sort of like an old friend- a way to tell that you're still alive, that all the shit you've seen hasn't jaded you." Christ, is that supposed to make him feel better?

"I promised you a couple years ago that SAMCRO was workin' towards gettin' out of all the things that were killin' us. The beef with the Mayans was put to bed two years ago when we buried Clay. The Irish and the guns, that score's been settled, and you had a part in it; Cameron Hayes is out of the country, and if we're right about him, he'll have three charters and the IRA on his ass the moment his feet hit American soil." JT leans forward, places a hand on Jax's knee, regarding him with dark, serious eyes.

"I can't promise you we'll _ever_ be fully legit- we're outlaws just as much as we are mechanics, and there's always gonna be folks that show up to challenge us, always the potential for a little danger around the corner. That's why my offer stands, Jackson; you want out- want something more, something different- I won't try to stop you. Same goes for puttin' in a transfer if that's what you need. But the other part of my promise to you two years ago was that I wouldn't allow you to be a part of a club I couldn't be proud of- and I'm proud of what we've done to make sure our families and our members are safe. This shit right now, it ain't gonna be the status quo, I can promise you that."

Jax closes his eyes, briefly.

"I know, Dad; it's just… the thought of somethin' happening to Tara, because of me-"

"You tell her?"

"_Fuck,_ no." Jax scoffs. "The last thing I wanted was for her to get scared off, feel like I couldn't protect her."

"And you don't think she picked up on any of this shit? _Really?_" JT's giving him a look that's meant to convey, obviously, just how stupid that assumption had been. "I told ya months ago, Son- only way an old lady makes it is if you tell her everything… or if you tell her nothin'. But you know the Doc- she's smart; there's no way she ain't gonna pick up on shit that goes on around here. Now, don't let me be the one to tell you how to act around your girl but if I were you, I'd tell her what you can. No explicit club business, but if she asks what's eatin' at you, you tell her about the hostage situation… there's just no need to include all the Irish shit, the gun-running, the money. That sort of thing."

"It's too late, Dad… I- I already fucked it up. I didn't say anything about _any_ of it, I just dealt with the nightmares the best way I knew how." At JT's raised eyebrow, Jax sighs. "Only way I could get any sleep at all is if she was with me- it's the only time I could tell myself she was safe. And at the same time, I've been out with the club more than ever before..." Jax buries his face in his hands, knowing the worst is about to come. "Christ, Dad, she could tell somethin' was up- asked me a few times, but I told her it was all club business. Talkin' to Ope helped, but only so much, and he's got no idea the nightmares I've been dealin' with. So one night, I let some shit spill to Tara when I thought she was sleeping- nothing specific, just my bullshit fears- and she called me on it tonight."

"I'm not here to say I told you so, Jackson, so spit it out. I could tell something was goin' on the moment your Ma opened the Cutlass door."

"She wants to move out of the clubhouse." He has to swallow, wait a second while the giant lump in his throat dissipates enough so that he can talk without sounding like he's about to cry like a little bitch. "Didn't say why, but I_ know_ why- shit ain't been right between us since I started havin' these nightmares."

"So instead of tellin' her what was goin' on, you let her wonder, let that sharp-ass brain of hers jump to her own conclusions- both about what had actually happened, and how you were gonna react to it."

"I guess-"

"And now she wants to move out... she say where?"

"We haven't had a chance to talk about it yet- she just said somethin' about how that Doctor over at the vet clinic had offered her some apartment. Then Ma showed up and I haven't had more'n a minute alone with Tara since."

Nodding, JT leans forward on his milk crate, draping one hand over a knee and stroking his beard with the other; it's the same thoughtful pose Jax has seen him in countless times since childhood- probably the way he was sitting in the St. Thomas waiting room when he told Jax Tommy likely wouldn't be coming home, definitely the way he'd sat after he'd pushed back the kitchen chair and reassured his son that while he hadn't known Maureen had been pregnant, what she'd written in her letter was undoubtedly true. In Jax's experience, this pose always seemed to lead to his father telling him some shit he didn't want to hear, and he's got no doubt tonight is no different.

"Let me ask you somethin' Son… The clubhouse- is it the kind of place you'd want your family to live?" At Jax's confused look, JT clarifies, a bit. "Say you and the Doc have a kid someday, maybe a little girl, and she tells ya she wants to start livin' at the clubhouse at the age of sixteen. You know, with all the parties, the booze, the way half the brothers don't even bother to head back to the dorms anymore when they're workin' on tappin' a croweater or two. That somethin' you'd be okay with a kid of yours wakin' up to every day?" When Jax doesn't respond, his father prods, again. "Or if that's too big a stretch for ya, imagine Trini in the same situation."

_Jesus Christ_… Jax winces as the mental image of Trinity stepping over Bobby's bare ass in the back hallway flashes in his mind. Or maybe walking in on whatever Tig gets up to with his regulars long after everyone else has passed out; Christ, just the thought of it is enough to make him want to go kick Tig's ass right now.

Then, what his father's getting at is suddenly clear, gets clearer as JT nods at him, knowingly.

"Rick ain't been a great father to Tara by any stretch of the imagination but I know he wasn't happy about the thought of her stayin' here with you; you and I both know it wasn't all because of who you are, Son. And I can't say as I disagree with him on that- probably the only thing he and I will ever see eye-to-eye on." Jax chuckles, despite himself.

"Yeah, probably."

"When you talked about movin' in here, I wasn't thrilled, either- thought you'd find it too hard to keep up with those college courses I made you take with the atmosphere we got goin' on in this place. You impressed me, Jackson, with how well that all went, and I want you to know that I expect ya to continue to pursue somethin' outside the club once all this prospecting shit is over. It can't hurt." _What the fuck? _Jax opens his mouth to retort exactly that, but JT silences him with a look.

"But that ain't the point, at the moment. Point is, I never liked the thought of the Doc livin' here full time. Girl's as close as a daughter to me as anyone ever had been before Trinity came into our lives. She's been put through a lot of shit by a member of this club, more yet from her own goddamn family, and she deserved better than that. So I figured you'd get her outta Rick's house, get her set up somewhere that doesn't have drunks breakin' shit in the middle of the night or women with their tits out in the middle of the day when she's tryin' to study." JT leans a little closer, fixes Jax with a serious gaze.

"It worked as a temporary fix, Jackson, but you know as well as I do that she's an independent one- had to be when she had to leave her Daddy's house at the age of nine. Havin' to wait for someone to take her around, bein' stuck here while you're out on club business… that ain't her. Add that to how it just don't sit right- seein' a girl like that get hassled by the croweaters or havin' to walk past Chibs' latest hookup just to get out of her bedroom in the mornin'- and I can't say I don't think it's time she did what makes sense for her." JT takes another swig of the whiskey before finishing his thought. "And I wouldn't be surprised if watchin' you struggle and refusin' to come clean about any of it is what pushed her to make a move."  
_  
Jesus… _Jax swipes his hands down his face and stares at his feet; when it's put that way, he can't really argue with his father- at least not without sounding selfish as fuck. He's not completely unaware of just how big of a pain in the ass it's been for Tara to find her way to classes and her internship, and he mentally kicks himself for waiting so long to find the time to teach her to drive. If he's being honest with himself, though, he can't rule out the possibility that he'd had this scenario in the back of his mind- that she'd leave the moment she was able to do so. Christ, is he really so selfish that he'd been avoiding teaching her to drive just to keep her here with him a little longer?

"You said the vet suggested a place?"

"Yeah. I mean, Tara said she offered her a job, and some apartment somewhere." JT nods, thoughtfully.

"That old house has a place above the garage. Years back, one of the boys rented it out- back when it was Dr. Spencer's clinic. I wouldn't be surprised if that's what she means." His eyes narrow, a bit. "You love her, Jackson?"

"The hell kind of a question is that? '_Course_ I love her-"

"You love her like you said you did when I told you all that shit about your Ma and me, back when I was still in the hospital? 'Cause I know shit changes, first loves can die-"

"_Not ours._" Jax bites, straightening to glare at his father. What the hell is he getting at, anyway? "I think… I think I love her _more_ than I did back then. And that's why this is fuckin' with me so bad- I might not have opened up to her the way I should've, but Christ, Dad... bein' with her is the only reason I can sleep at night, especially now."

"If you love her, you got to let her do what's best for_ her_." JT responds, simply. "And while I can't say I think it's healthy you need her with ya to sleep, I'm somewhat to blame for it- lettin' the two of you shack up at the house during that whole Clay mess; that and, I was the exact same way with your mom."

"Jesus Christ, Dad… if there's some shit I don't wanna hear about, it's whatever you and Mom got up to when you were my age." JT chuckles and sends him a wicked grin.

"You think you're the only one that's ever been in love, Boy? Man, if you only knew the real reason I started comin' up here at night-"

"Alright, alright, I_ get_ it- just stop," Jax pleads, leading JT to snort. Then he sobers a bit, resting a hand on Jax's knee.

"Anyway, you're actin' like she's movin' to Chicago or somethin- ain't no bylaw sayin' prospects got to spend every night in the clubhouse. If it's that garage apartment, it's close by and better yet, it's a great opportunity for her to hold onto that job. If you're not on board because you're worried about yourself, you're puttin' your relationship in a lot more danger than SAMCRO ever will."

"Yeah, you're probably right-"

"I _know_ I'm right, Son. I ain't sure exactly what you two plan to do in the years comin' up but if you're not supportive of her now, how's she supposed to believe you will be when push comes to shove? When she's got to choose between a school here in Califormia and fuckin' Yale or somewhere? Why should she take your feelings into account if you don't do the same?" Jax nods, numbly; his father's right- of _course_ he's fuckin' right- and there's not a lot else to be said. "So if you're not there- in a place where you can accept this, let her do what she needs to do- you better start prayin' for something that'll _get _you there, and quick. You understand what I'm sayin', Son?"

"Yeah. I do."

JT seems to search his face for any sign of remaining bullshit, any indication that there's still trouble brewing below the surface, before hoisting himself off the crate and clapping Jax on the back.

"Alright. I s'pose I better get back down there and make sure Piney's nowhere near the goddamn grill. I'd ask ya if you needed a minute, but you better go make sure everyone's got a beer, give Ope a break."

"A'ight." Jax is standing, following his father towards the ladder before he can get his next words out- "Uh, Dad?"

"Yeah?" JT stops in his tracks, the half-empty bottle of Jameson dangling from his hand, and Jax can't seem to help lurching forward to wrap him in a hug, trying to convey all the shit they just don't have time to discuss with all of SAMCRO and four members of another charter waiting on them below.

"Thanks, old man."

* * *

Tara's quiet through dinner- even more so than she usually is- despite the fact that she actually gets on pretty well with all of the Fresno brothers and the relative lack of croweaters. It's practically a family atmosphere tonight- owing, partially, to Trinity's presence- and it's another sharp little barb in Jax's heart that he'd cost her the fun of this evening, too. She responds when it's appropriate, cracks a smile at Opie's ribbing, and even laughs at Brewster's recap of Jax's request to challenge the blonde Fresno prospect all those months ago... but all of those things are gone as quickly as they appear, making his smart, sassy Tara seem tentative, almost withdrawn- and he fuckin' hates it.

By the time things are cleaned up and Jax and Opie have finished spreading the hot coals to cool, the rest of the Sons have found their way back inside. Most everyone's clustered around the tables, though Bobby and Precious seem to have found their way to an armchair in the corner and a couple croweaters have arrived to man the bar, thank God. Tara and Donna are curled up on the couch, watching Tig and Kozik trade insults and play pool, and it's with a sigh of relief that Jax drops down beside his girlfriend, pulling her into his side just as Opie bends to kiss Donna.

"Mmmm… you two done playin' slave, yet?" Donna snickers, grinning up at Opie.

"Never done, baby. And don't say that shit so loud or Tig'll come up with some bullshit for us to do."

"Besides," Jax returns, "where the hell is _your_ taskmaster? I'm pretty sure neither of you two got paid for all your hard work this evening."

"Takin' your little sister home," Donna replies, smugly, nodding towards the kitchen door. "So we're done for the night."

Sure enough, Gemma's emerging with a stack of empty platters, Trinity in tow, and Jax barely manages to stifle a groan when she spots them on the couch and turns on her heel to approach them. _Christ, _buthe doesn't think he can handle explaining himself to her along with everyone else in his life. As if she's thinking the same thing, Tara rests her forehead on his shoulder- effectively hiding her eyes against his shirtsleeve- and Jax smiles a bit, slipping his arm around her so she's tucked into his chest.

"Alright kids, anything you need before we take off?" Gemma's eyes sweep the length of the couch, but pause on Jax and Tara a little longer than necessary. Jax can practically see his mother's mind working, her mouth opening slightly as if there's some question she's about to ask- but then a faint smile crosses her lips and she nudges Trinity. "Say g'night to everyone, sweetheart."

"Night, Jackson, 'night, Tara," and Trinity's bending to kiss him on the cheek. Tara gets the same treatment before she straightens and smiles at Opie and Donna. "Night Donna, 'night… _Dopey_."

"You little…" and before Ope can even begin to move, Trinity's darting across the clubhouse to the door- squealing as he chases her- and sticking her tongue out before disappearing into the night.

"I guess we're leaving _now_," Gemma says, drily, as Opie returns and slouches onto the arm of the couch. Again, her eyes flit to Jax before landing on Tara and narrowing, slightly. "Looks like Miss Tara' tired- maybe she needs to head on back to the apartment-"

"Yeah, I got it, Mom."

"-she wasn't herself all night," Gemma continues, as if Tara's not right there next to Jax; he feels a brief flash of irritation, and then his mother's shooting him a look-_ the_ look- and strutting towards the door.

_Christ…_

"You want to go lay down, Babe?"

"It's like ten o'-" Donna's elbow stops the rest of that question from leaving Opie's mouth, and- catching on- he changes tacks. "Got it. I'll cover for ya if anything comes up." _Thank you, Donna…_ Jax sends them both a grateful look over the top of Tara's head. For her part, Tara's still quiet, snuggled against his chest, and for the hundredth time tonight it occurs to him just how adrift and… fucking _lost _they both seem when shit's twisted up between them.

"Babe?"

The fact that Tara sighs before answering tells him everything he needs to know.

Jax is on his back beneath the cool sheets ten minutes later, watching Tara undress; usually, the sight alone would have him half-hard and ready to beg, but tonight… Tonight he can't help feeling as if they're quickly approaching the end to some sort of era, trite as that sounds, even in his mind. Tara's perfume's on the dresser, right below the caricature of her and Donna from Fun Town last summer that's tucked into the frame of the mirror. Her Chucks are next to the desk chair, the book of poetry he'd given her on the far nightstand, and her scent's on his pillow- but for how much longer? Jax has to swallow the fucking lump in his throat- along with his pride and the faint, remaining urge to tell her she's not goddamn going _anywhere_\- to smile at her as she approaches the bed in one of his Reaper t-shirts. He quickly recognizes it as his favorite of the many she's stolen over the years because it was one of his first- so worn it's almost as soft as her skin.

Jax reaches out to finger the hem of the shirt before sliding over so she can slide beneath the sheets and curl against his chest. Suddenly, it strikes him that he's not sure of the last time he'd been in bed before her; he's _definitely_ not able to recall the last time he'd gone to bed either sober, before the wee hours of the morning, or without being desperate to bury himself in her and just forget. Now, though, she's curving her body to fit his, her head's on his chest and her fingers are wrapped around his own… and it all just feels so right again- even when things are changing- that he just lets himself revel in it, and in _Tara_.

They're quiet for a long minute that stretches into several, and Jax is just beginning to wonder if she's fallen asleep when Tara speaks, her soft lips brushing his chest.

"I'm sorry I told you like that, Jax. It… it wasn't fair to you." She sighs, and he presses a kiss to her crown- whether he's accepting her apology or giving one of his own, he isn't sure. "It's just that the closer we got to Charming, the more everything seemed like it was closing in on me- on _us_. And you either can't tell me what's wrong, or you won't, but-"

She's interrupted by his own sigh, escaping from his lungs just like weeks of stockpiled, backdated worry and fear escapes his heart as the words start coming, spilling from his mouth and dropping into some blessed abyss where they cease to matter. Rogue River, the nightmares, his nerves, his fears, his terrors… all but the parts that are vital to SAMCRO, and that doesn't matter because these are the things that have kept him up, nights. Tara just listens, strokes his cheek, lets everything fall away between them.

And when he's finished, when he can't think of even one more thing he'd been hiding except just how fucked-up his nightmares have been, she closes her eyes as if imprinting this moment into them, into the fabric that weaves the two of them together, and says-

"I still have to move out, Jax- it's such a good opportunity, I'd be crazy not to take it-"

_That's not why I told you_, he doesn't bother to say._ When did you start calling me Jax,_ is a subject he doesn't have the energy to even think about broaching. So instead, he pulls her closer, clutches her fingers more tightly- his body conveying what he knows he can't allow his words to say,not if he wants to do right by her; _stay with me, Baby, please…_

'I know, Babe- I know this is what you have to do; and you don't have to worry, 'cause I got your back. We'll figure it out."

The way Tara smiles up at him- her first genuine smile since they'd driven back into Charming- will be burned into his own personal photo album of her forever, he thinks. She reaches to switch off the lamp and flood them with darkness, and despite the muted laughter coming from the clubhouse, the absolute roller coaster this whole freaking day has been, despite Cameron, his mother, and just about everyone else in the world... it's the first night in weeks he doesn't wake up gasping for breath.


	14. Ch 14

****I own nothing you recognize****

"That's the last one, Knowles," Opie grunts as he drops the bulging cardboard box with a thud. "Was it really necessary to pack_ all _your books in the one box? My back was killin' me already after tryin' to get that damn dresser up those stairs-"

"Jesus, Ope, could ya bitch a little more? I mean, it ain't like we didn't already help your girl move all _her_ shit across town last weekend- my _birthday_ weekend, for that matter. And, for free-" Jax ducks as a wad of masking tape narrowly misses his head, then sends an insolent grin in the general direction of the kitchenette, where Donna's perched precariously on the counter, peeling the remnants of the painter's tape from the ceiling.

"Shut it, Teller," she warns, brandishing another wad of tape. Jax just shrugs and slouches against an empty expanse of wall, grinning up at her even as Opie shoves him in the shoulder in mock indignation.

"Yeah bro- you didn't do shit for free, remember? Donna's mom paid you in _prayer_ for your poor, lost, outlaw soul- _Hey!_" Ope doesn't manage to dodge the projectile his girlfriend fires at him, though it glances off his chest harmlessly and lands on one of a small pile of boxes. He's laughing by the time Donna manages to hop down from the counter and tackle him- but even with Opie half doubled over, she's only able to dangle from his neck. When he straightens, he grabs her under the thighs and bolts for the door, Donna shrieking and riding along helplessly on his back.

Tara can't help but smile as she listens to her friends- especially when Donna's voice gets shrill, suddenly- the shrieking intensifying before breaking into peals of laughter and joined momentarily by Opie's. Ope had always been quick to a joke, to tease and give a knowing, silent, smile; Donna, though… she seems to unlock some hidden part of him- some carefree, uninhibited version of Opie reminiscent of a younger Harry Winston that's always lurked beneath the contemplative looks and the cigarette smoke. She's all but sure he's unaware of it, really- the subtle shift he undergoes when Donna's in the room, the spark of light in his eye and the ease in his grin- and there's no way in hell she'd ever be able to explain it to him without sounding crazy, but it's there just the same.

"Sounds like they found the sprinklers," Jax muses, breaking into her thoughts and pushing off the wall; he closes the short distance between them with a couple easy steps, and the sway of his hips and the hair falling into his face is more than enough to make her forget, momentarily, what she'd been doing. Then, the armful of tank tops she'd been holding during her woolgathering re-enters her consciousness, and she manages to send Jax her own version of the Teller smirk before turning back to the very dresser Opie had been griping about.

"It's hot," she says, simply, placing the folded shirts into the top drawer- and it is. California isn't known for being cool overall, but Redwood country isn't San Diego, either, and temperatures soaring into the upper nineties and low hundreds in September isn't really the norm.

"_You're_ hot…" Jax mumbles into her neck; he's behind her, suddenly- his arms wrapped around her waist, trailing feather-light kisses down her nape before dipping his tongue below the damp neckline of her tank top. Despite the fact that it's almost uncomfortably sticky in the apartment at not even ten in the morning- and the fact that Jax practically radiates heat, something she's learned to appreciate in the winters but not so much in the warmer months- Tara finds herself shivering deliciously, anticipating his next move and faintly aware that even though all of this shouldn't feel new after three years together, it somehow does all the same.

Jax is lightly sinking his teeth into her shoulder and slipping a finger behind the lace hem of her panties when another of Donna's shrieks splits the air. Reluctantly, Tara tuns in Jax's arms, stretching onto her tiptoes to land an apologetic kiss on his nose before locating his seeking hands; these, she redirects, weaving her fingers between his and gently tugging him across the apartment to her bed. Well, sort of.

"Jesus Christ, Babe, I can tell you right now, this ain't gonna work for me," Jax grouses, sinking halfway to the floor the moment he lowers his six-foot-plus frame onto the air mattress currently occupying the back alcove of the apartment. "My ass is already touchin' the floor; plus, I can practically hear this damn thing deflating-" None too gently, Tara flings herself onto the mattress next to him, thrusting him up into the air and stopping him, mid-sentence; as quickly as he'd bounced up, though, he's sinking back down, the inflatable mattress sagging in the middle and causing them both to roll towards dead center. Seemingly triumphant over his proof that the air mattress does, in fact, suck, Jax lets his body half-cover hers, refusing to move even when she squirms and kicks underneath him; soon, they're both cracking up, his fingers dancing over her sides, his lips stealing brief kisses where he can.

"Alright, Knowles, I got questions," Jax's voice hums near her ear minutes later, their brief power struggle having ended in a stalemate. Tara's stretched on her side, Jax's arm draped loosely over her hip; really, it's too hot to be lying even this close together, but the damn mattress just keeps forcing them to roll towards each other- and frankly, after a morning of carrying and unpacking boxes, the brief respite is welcome.

"Questions?" Jesus, this could be anything, really, but Tara feels the faint swirlings of dread seep into her belly. To say that Jax's reaction to her decision to move out of the clubhouse had been bad is both an understatement and a bit unfair. At first, he'd been speechless- hurt, put-upon, and a host of other emotions that Tara had been able to identify at once; but when they'd finally found themselves alone, he'd given her what she'd asked of him for weeks- honesty. And in the end, he'd supported her- despite the fact that she knows he'd have gladly lived with her in the clubhouse forever, and despite the occasional glimpses of reluctance and flashes of hurt he doesn't hide quite as well as he thinks he does… but at least he's _trying_. Now that moving day's come, though, who knows what's going through his head- or how it will present itself.

"Yep- questions, Babe." Jax keeps his tone light, presses a quick kiss to her ear before proceeding with said question. " First, the most important one- are you happy?" Tara pushes out a quick breath- nothing like getting right to the heart of the matter.

"I… I _am_, Jax. I know you're not completely on board with this, that you'd rather have me over at the clubhouse, but it's the best choice for me and I feel really good about that, like I can finally handle my own shit. If I pass my drivers test this afternoon, I'll be able to get to classes and work without having to ask you or Donna all the time, _and_ I'll have a quiet space to study... but on the weekends we can still spend time at the clubhouse if you want _or_ stay here, and-"

"Tara, stop" he chuckles in her ear, stemming the flow of words that had started tumbling out the moment his question had registered. "We've been over all that, and I'm on board… I really am. I was askin' if you were happy with all this-" he removes a hand from her hip and waves it at the apartment at large. "You put a lot of work into this place, Babe."

She really had, Tara realizes as she pictures the apartment how it had been- full of boxes, in dire need of a thorough cleaning, and almost entirely covered in peeling yellow paint. It had taken the whole of one weekend to finish sorting out the remaining boxes from the old vet clinic, and most of the following to get the place cleaned and strip the thick layers of wax from the wood floors- now shining brightly in the light from the alcove window above. Then, she and Donna had put in nearly two full days of painting, covering nearly the entire place in a fresh coat of white and making the previously modest apartment seem airy- almost roomy.

The tiny alcove for the bed, however, she'd painted a sky blue- she'd seen the paint at the hardware store and instantly been reminded of Jackson, hovering above her on the hood of the Cutlass, his eyes mirroring the impossibly blue sky filtering through the branches of the trees above. She'd never admit it- not to Donna and especially not to Jax himself- but if she couldn't have him with her here, at least not all the time, at least she could surround herself with a subtle little reminder.

It had taken most of the morning to wash and put away the kitchen items Doctor Carlson had found in the upstairs of the clinic, and to haul and unpack the boxes of Tara's things from the clubhouse apartment and her father's house. Rick hadn't been around- as was his usual- and Tara figures it had been for the best. She'd only seen her father in passing since graduation last spring- usually neutral places like Charming Market or the sidewalk outside the bank- and she can't help but feel a bit of sadness that the man she'd known as Daddy for nine years of her life is now little more than just another citizen of Charming on the street. Even her room- untouched for the seven years she'd been in San Diego and seldom used for the few she'd been back in Charming- seems like that of a stranger now; they'd been in and out early this morning, tossing books, clothing, and trinkets into something to haul them over to the apartment, and Tara hadn't been surprised that the sum total of the last three years of her life at her father's house had fit into two boxes.

"So what do you think?" Jax is asking, and Tara smiles, shifts so that she's facing him- glad, in the moment, to focus on the present rather than the past.

"I think… that I can't believe I'm living here-" she kisses him, letting the flicker of something she'd seen before igniting in his eyes go unmentioned, "I'm so happy with how everything turned out-" another kiss, this one a little more lingering, and now his eyes are closing, "and I can't imagine anything more perfect than right now." Then, they're really kissing, pressing close, getting lost in the tangle of tongues and limbs- until he moves to roll over her, shifting the balance of the air mattress beneath them and nearly sending them both rolling off the edge.

"Jesus Christ.." Jax groans, but he's laughing despite their predicament, arranging himself- somewhat awkwardly- in the center of the mattress before pulling Tara on top of him, instead. "Well that leads me to my second question… which is, when the hell are you gettin' a real bed?" Of _course_ he would ask that; her adorably horny boyfriend, who puts her needs before his almost to a fault, is pretty much selfish only where his time with her is concerned- if it were up to him they'd spend every last moment together, alone, in bed, and preferably naked. Tara just smirks impishly, stretching to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth and one on his chin.

"I _have _a bed, Teller," she points out, nodding her head at the thick wooden headboard and footboard propped against the wall near their feet. "I just need to make do with this air mattress until I get my first paycheck from the clinic- then I'll buy a queen-size to go with it."

"What about the one that's at your old man's place? I know _he_ ain't usin' it-"

"No." Tara replies, instantly, shaking her head even as Jax shoves a pillow underneath his head, bringing his eyes level with hers. "I got everything I needed out of my room already without having to hear about not leaving Charming for school this fall. I don't want to push my luck."

"Ope and I will go pick it up if you don't want to deal with him, Babe-"

"It isn't just that…" Tara sighs, folding her hands on Jax's chest and resting her chin atop them, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "He's not JT, Jax; he doesn't support us, what we have together, and he sure as hell doesn't _understand_ it. I've barely even seen him since graduation- since he gave me the Cutlass and practically ordered me to leave Charming, actually- and even if I'd had time to talk to him about all of this, there's no way he'd be willing to listen to why I'm staying these next couple years. Besides-" Tara can hear the edge creeping into her voice and wonders, briefly, if it's better or worse to feel bitter about her own father practically being a damn stranger than it is to feel sad about it. "I don't _need _anything from him- I haven't since I moved into the clubhouse with you… probably even since I left Charming the first time. I'm not going to start with a mattress, you know?" Silently, Jax nods, lets a hand drift from her hip to the small of her back, grazes his thumb along her spine reassuringly.

"You wanna stay with me over at the clubhouse until you got a better place to sleep?" He winces, shifting underneath her restlessly.

"I _can't_, Baby; I mean- I'm not saying I'll _never _stay over there or anything, but this is the first night in my own place. I guess I just feel like I've got to prove myself… _to myself_. Does that make sense?"

"I guess, Babe. I just wanna make sure you're okay here, y'know?" Tara rolls her eyes, then rolls them again when she realizes just how serious his expression is.

"I'm hardly the first person to sleep on an air mattress, Jax."

"Well, you deserve better. Besides…" It's then that the smirk curls his lips- somehow equally enticing and infuriating- and his voice drops an octave, "I'm not plannin' on you sleepin' _alone_ all that often." He's hauling her up his body before she can respond, claiming her mouth and threading his fingers in her hair in one swift motion. He pushes his hips into her, the evidence of his arousal setting up some truly awesome friction, below, and the sheer exhilaration- the _freedom_ of being here with him, in her own place- has Tara suddenly desperate to have him. Jax's belt is unbuckled almost before she realizes her hands have found their way between them, and he's grinning against her lips, letting his body fall still so she can tug down his zipper and-

"Jesus Christ, kids- you ever think of lockin' the damn door?" Tara starts, knowing even before she looks that the voice is Kozik's, and when she dares a peep, he's standing just inside the door, holding one end of something large and boxy and very pointedly directing his gaze up at the ceiling. Face aflame, Tara rolls off Jax- sitting up abruptly and barely managing to stay on the edge of the mattress; he's shifting her halfway onto his lap and speaking before she even realizes why he'd positioned her to block the view of his fly.

"You ever think of _knockin'_?" Jackson's voice, still so thick and low- though tinted with amusement- sends one last flutter of desire through her, sending her mind where it had been mere seconds ago… mapping out the hard lines of his chest, the inner silk of his mouth, unearthing his thick-

"Tara?" _Oh, Christ…_ now a significantly damp Opie's peering around the edge of the door, and both he and Kozik are looking at her expectantly. She recognizes, now, that the large, boxy item they're carrying is a window air conditioner unit.

"Where did that come from?" _And how the hell am I supposed to pay for it_\- she doesn't say.

"The van," Opie offers, airily, before raising his shoulders expectantly. "Now where are we puttin' this thing, because it's heavy as hell."

"Um… in the window over by the table and chairs, I guess?" Ope snorts, but he and Kozik begin walking the unit over to the designated window.

"Well, I ain't movin' this thing again, so I hope that wasn't a guess…" he says, teasingly, as a soaking wet Donna enters and closes the door behind them.

"No, that's the best spot," Donna says, firmly. "You don't want it over your bed, Tare- too noisy. But the place is small enough it won't really matter where you put it anyway- it'll still keep cool." Tara nods, slowly, and fidgets with the hem of her shirt, all traces of lust gone as she bites her lip and contemplates just how to tell Kozik she's got no way to pay him back. Evidently, Jax is thinking somewhere along the same lines, because he shifts behind her, sitting up to toss a casual arm around her shoulders- only, that gesture is never casual where Jax is concerned.

"Where'd it come from Koz?" Like his posture, Jax's voice is casual- _too _casual- the careful way he navigates the sentence lost on everyone but Tara, from the looks of it. No doubt, if pressed, Jax would have some outdated, Stepford shit to say about how nobody needs to give his girl an air conditioning unit but him; Tara barely suppresses an eye roll… but does so for Kozik's benefit.

"Landlady." Kozik grunts as he heaves his end of the unit into the open window, "Paid off her mortgage, celebrated by installin' central air in the house- she was fixin' to put this thing on the curb and I asked if she minded if I snagged it." He steps back, raises an eyebrow in Tara's direction and adds, firmly- "No charge, Doc- for me _or_ for you."

"Got you and Tig livin' large over there on the nice side of town, huh?" Opie snarks, closing the window and stooping, briefly, to plug the unit in. "First AC; next you'll be havin' the mayor over for beers and shit." Kozik just shakes his head and leans over to flip the switch, then slouches against the wall as it kicks on for the first time.

"Hey, at least now with central air, Tiggy can keep his goddamn bedroom door shut- God only knows I got no interest in whatever the hell goes on in there," he returns wryly, and both Jax and Opie dissolve into chuckles.

"Hey Kozik?" Tara ventures, rising to cross the room with Jax trailing behind her, and sending Kozik a small smile he doesn't notice right away. Then, he looks up from his exchange with the guys, his own easy smile still on his lips. "_Thank you._" He grins and shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging sheepishly.

"LIke I said, the thing was free. And it ain't like I don't owe ya a solid for givin' me an excuse to drop by the clinic from time to time." At this, Donna hides a grin but Opie looks at Kozik, strangely; God, boys- even prospects for an outlaw motorcycle club… hell, _especially_ prospects for an outlaw MC- could be so clueless sometimes when it comes to matters of the heart. Even Jax- who wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to most aspects of their relationship- and Opie- who'd been both Tara and Jax's sounding-board for the past few years- still seem generally oblivious to the fact that Kozik's crushing on the pretty brunette veterinarian. To be fair, Tara guesses, this is the first time Kozik's even admitted out loud he'd been concocting excuses to show up here.

"I appreciate it, though- you didn't have to do that… just like you don't have to do most of the stuff you've been helping out with around here." Next to her, Jax tenses, his fingers curling around the hem of his kutte, and Tara stifles the urge to jam her elbow into his ribs; _damn _Gemma and her manipulations. Jax had already barely been able to keep his stubborn, possessive streak in check, but ever since Gemma had caught on to Kozik's increased interest in the clinic, she'd been trying to work out why.

Jax, for the most part, had let his own questions linger just below the surface- emerging only the day Gemma had pointedly mentioned to him just how many times Kozik had volunteered to give Tara a lift. As a result she'd wholly reassured him that the guy was only interested in Doctor Carlson, mentioning that he'd been giving her puppy-dog eyes since the first day he'd arrived at the clinic.

Still, though, Jax been on edge when it comes to Kozik being around Tara ever since Gemma had inserted herself into the situation and steered his mind down that road. Actually, she probably still is _inserted_, if Tara knows her as well as she thinks she does- and she's suddenly over the whole thing. _Sorry Koz- but this is for your own good as much as it is mine.  
_  
"By the way… how_ are_ things going with Ang- uh, Doctor Carlson?" Too late, Kozik attempts to look confused, makes his face as blank as he possibly can- but from the way both Jax and Opie eye him curiously, he's got to know he's fighting a losing battle.

"Uh-"

"Wait a minute," Ope breaks in, crossing his arms and regarding Kozik incredulously. "You mean you're hookin' up with Tara's boss? The_ vet_?" He ignores Donna's smack to his shoulder as a wide grin spreads across his face. "_That's_ why you've been so willing to play taxi lately?"

"Oh, they're not hooking up," Tara says, evenly, speaking up before Kozik is able to defend himself. "Matter of fact, as far as I know, he's not even taken her on a date yet- even though it doesn't take a genius to see that she's got just as big of a crush on him as he does on her."

"I ain't- wait, _really_?" Kozik interrupts the beginnings of his own indignant diatribe in favor of peering up at Tara, dumbfounded. "You actually think she's interested, Doc?" Tara rolls her eyes.

"Of _course_ she is- haven't you noticed the way she looks at you? Plus, women don't just let some biker help her out with odd jobs unless there's some level of trust, there; actually, that's practically in the girl code handbook- _don't let a member of a biker gang change your locks_."

"We're a club," Kozik replies, automatically.

"Yep. Motorcycle enthusiasts," adds Opie, still eying Kozik. "So the Vet… how, uh, _enthusiastic_ is she about you?" Donna snickers in response, gesturing at poor Kozik, who still seems to be processing the information.

"Does this look like a man that's in the know, Ope?" Kozik ignores her and responds only by running a hand down his face and heaving a deep sigh.

"Honestly? I ain't been serious about a girl since before my uh… well, you know- my _problem_." He mimes something near the crook of his elbow that Tara eventually recognizes as pushing in the plunger to a needle- and she's struck, instantly, with just how young he looks despite everything. He'd patched in with Tig, but is almost undeniably younger- all boyish good looks and sheepish charm, he looks almost nothing like what you'd expect from either a member of an outlaw biker club or a former junkie… and yet, he's both.

"But you're serious about her?" Tara can't help asking, and next to her, Jax weighs in for the first time.

"He _must_ be- Tig was just bitchin' the other day about how Kozy here ain't looked twice at a croweater in a while now." Almost instantly, he cringes, as if realizing he'd said something he shouldn't have, and Donna shoots him a disgusted look.

"What, so now Tig's monitoring how many skanks the guys hook up with? Like there's some _quota_?" Opie shoots Jax a death glare over the top of Donna's head and drops his head back onto the wall in exasperation as she continues. "What is it with you men and random, slutty women? Just because you _can _hook up with every low-self-esteem, daddy-issue girl that throws herself at any man in a kutte doesn't mean you_ should_."

"It also doesn't mean that someone should hassle you for choosing not to," Tara says, simply, patting Kozik on the arm. Pushing the issue- and Jax's continued silence on it- to the back of her mind for now, she catches Kozik's eye. "You didn't answer my question, though. Are you serious about Angela? I mean, I don't even know what that looks like for you, but... I don't know- do you want to date her? Take her for a ride or something?" All traces of uncertainty are gone as the blonde slowly raises his eyes to hers and nods, slowly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Then tell her._ Show_ her. You've _got_ to move beyond showing up here just hoping to catch a glimpse of her." He seems to contemplate this a moment before groaning, burying his face in his hands.

"I don't even know how to do this shit, Doc- especially with someone outside the club." Removing his hands, he looks up at her, eyes troubled, "I mean, won't all the…" he fumbles for the right word "_other_ shit scare her off?"

"_I_ wasn't scared off," Tara returns, sending a smile over her shoulder to Jax, who grins back and bumps her with his shoulder. "And I can't tell you what to do, or what to say- just be yourself, ask her out, and go from there."

"Take her for a ride," Jax supplies, squeezing her hand and leaning over to drop a quick kiss on her temple, breathing the next part in her ear, though it's for Kozik's benefit. "I hear chicks love that shit."

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm takin' relationship advice from Prospects and their almost-old-ladies," Kozik grumbles, but he can't seem to stop the edges of the smile from curling his lips and Tara thinks that maybe she'd gotten through, gotten him to believe someone like Angela could be interested in him. She hopes she's gotten through to Jax, too- finally made him realize Kozik is interested in someone else, no matter what Gemma thinks.

The new air conditioner cuts off, suddenly, leaving the apartment in a companionable silence for a brief moment before the roar of a motorcycle splits the air, idling to a stop nearby. Opie peers out the window, but only frowns and shakes his head.

"I can't see shit; what was that, a Dyna?" Kozik, too, shakes his head.

"Maybe, but it's got aftermarket shit on it if it is, didn't sound like an EVO."

"Shit. Then it's either Piney, Tig, or Bobby." Jax groans, releasing Tara's hand to reach for his cigarettes. "And that means we got shit we gotta go do…" Kozik merely grins, his swagger returning by the moment.

"Such is the life of a Prospect… even for a Prince. Now let's go find out who's showed up."

_Who_ turns out to be Tig, as Jax had feared, though Tig pays them almost no mind as they approach; he's crouched at the heavy metal screening around the outdoor portion of the dog run in the lean-to that had been added to the wraparound porch of the old house. The exterior, covered kennels opened to dog doors installed in the side of the house, and Tara's impressed all over again, momentarily, with the ingenious idea Angela had come up with as a way to give the animals adequate outside time. This way, each could enter and exit as they pleased, while still remaining separated from the others. Currently, the only live-in patients are the mother and puppies, but it's only the mother that's outside, sniffing Tig's hand through the metal screening and wagging her tail.

"Hey, sweetheart. _Hey..._ " Tig soothes, even as the dog appears to nudge the screen with her nose, attempting to get closer to him. He smiles, then- more genuinely than Tara has ever seen him direct at any human- and the effect is almost transformative; the ice-blue eyes are nearly soft, the lines between the brow blurring until he looks pleasant, almost kind.

"Uh… Tiggy?"

Tig doesn't flinch at Kozik's voice, just holds a hand up to the screen, winks as the dog rests her head against it briefly and then curls against the screen contentedly.

"Y'know," he says, distantly, failing to acknowledge Kozik's greeting at all, "I used to have a German Shepherd as a kid; he was mean as hell. Fucker bit me when I was eight, actually- I was terrified to go in my backyard for months. But _her_…" he tilts his head at the dog, "You can tell this little missy ain't nothin' like that."

"Her _name's_ Missy, actually," Tara muses, "Trinity named her a while back."

"Good. Those puppies hers?" He taps the fence, indicating the first two who are blearily making their way through the dog doors and into the kennel, then rises and turns to eye Tara, who nods.

"Yeah, All four of them have been spoken for, though- they go to their new homes this week." Suddenly, Tig's brow is furrowed again, the softness leaving his face in favor of concern- another expression Tara isn't used to seeing on him.

"So what happens to her, those pups get adopted?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, I guess. She'll probably stay here until we can find someone to adopt her, too." Tig just nods, returning his gaze to Missy, and somewhere in the background, Kozik mutters,

"Jesus Christ, Tig…"

"What?" TIg replies indignantly, pushing off the fence and starting off along the side of the clinic.

"It's just…" Kozik hurries to catch up. "There ain't no way Norma's gonna let you get a dog."

"Who said anything about gettin' a dog?"

"_Really_ bro? You just-"

"'Sides… I can be very _persuasive, _in a lotta different ways." And there he is; the old Tig is back- his face dead serious as he says something most would joke about- and so is the creeping uncertainty that's always somewhere in the back of Tara's mind that he's completely serious when he says shit like that. He snatches the helmet off his handlebars and clips it on, tossing, casually, to Kozik- "You never know, maybe we both sorta found a girl over here."

"I don't even wanna _know _what that means," Ope muses from behind them, and Tig flips him off, his over-large nose wrinkling in disgust.

"The fuck is wrong with you, Prospect?" The mild surprise on Ope's face quickly turns to a faint grin, and Jax rushes to interrupt before Opie can point out just how half-fucked-up most of what Tig says really is.

"What's goin' on, Tig? I know you didn't just come over here to check out some dogs." Tig nods, suddenly, dropping his hands from the starter.

"Oh, shit- right. Boss was gonna page ya, but he figured Tara didn't have a phone line set up yet to call back from. Unser called- guess one of his rigs ran into a little problem last night pickin' some shit up from the Amish."

"You mean the Irish?" Kozik looks nonplussed, but Tig just chuckles.

"Nope. Amish. We got to send at least four over there, and everyone senior's over at Indian Hills for that reunion shit." He narrows his eyes, curling his lips in a wicked smirk. "But hey, that's what Prospects are for, right?" Jax releases a deep sigh, and before the last of it has even crossed his lips, Tara's seized with a sudden realization- quickly followed by disappointment.

Her driving test is today, at long last, and she'd put in even more than the required hours behind the wheel. Jax had chuckled that she'd needed them and she'd just rolled her eyes at the time, but she knows he's right. She'd just been hoping he'd be there when she walked out of the office, license in hand- he'd be there to be proud of this, her first real achievement in what could be considered his area of expertise.

Driving had been, probably, the first thing she'd ever put her mind to that she hadn't succeeded at straight away- a fact she hates. It had taken several, long lessons behind the wheel of the Cutlass to work out the magic Jax, Donna, and practically everyone else she knows could produce with the glide of the stick shift- but she and Jax had made a habit of punctuating each lesson with more..._ preferred _activities. They'd set about christening the backseat, the front seat, and the hood of the Cutlass (again) all over Redwood; in fact, just two night ago, Jax had promised-

"I'm sorry, Babe," Jax murmurs, breaking into her thoughts and stepping before her to gently rest a palm on each cheek. Then, she can see the moment when he notices her warm cheeks, the faint flush she can feel traveling south of her collarbone and his brows raise a bit in surprise, the Teller smirk supplanting the apologetic frown that had been on his lips a second ago. He raises his chin just a bit, pupils dilating as he studies her briefly.

"What's all this?" Then, her train of thought becomes clear to him, too, and he licks his lips, dropping his forehead to touch hers before whispering, "Don't worry, Babe- pass your test and I'll keep the rest of my promises. _All _of 'em." He's kissing her gently, slipping his tongue into her mouth and tangling his fingers into her hair when Kozik's voice makes him freeze.

"Hey, Prospect, we gotta go _now_\- we need to head back to T-W to pick up the bikes before we can hit the road."

"Yeah, okay." Then, he leans in closer once again, ignoring the sound of Tig's bike firing up and speaking low enough that she has to close the rest of the miniscule distance between them just to hear him. "I really am sorry, but Donna said she could take you- and this protection shit won't take long. After that, I'm all yours for the night."

"Okay, Baby," is all she can eke out before he's zeroing in on her lips again, and they're falling open, slightly, when he stops a hair's breadth short, ghosting his teeth along her bottom lip and heating it with his breath before he winks and turns to lope off toward the waiting van.

She's still standing there a minute after it had pulled away, trying to stifle all the things Jax makes her feel- the longing ache, the frustration, the disappointment that he's once again having to break a promise he'd made her- when someone touches her shoulder.

"You alright, Tare?" Donna asks, tugging Tara towards the side of the clinic; Tara just shrugs, unable to articulate the mixture of turned-on and let-down she is- and unsure she even wants to.

"That's prospecting, right?" Donna pushes out a sigh in response, swinging their linked hands between them as they round the corner of the building and into the back yard.

"Yeah, I guess. I'll be so glad when this shit is over, though."

"Yeah, sure." And she can't do it- can't bring herself to think about how very little seems to have changed for Tig and Kozik a couple years after they patched in, can't bring herself to mention it to Donna… not _today_. Not when two different pieces of her independence are finally coming together, and Jax seems to finally grasp that she's not seeking to be free from him, but to be free to be _with _him- and dammit, she's going to enjoy it.

* * *

The ride down to Fresno is uneventful- boring, even. A straight shot down California 99 Jax has made several times already as a Prospect- most notably for Maureen and McGee's funerals- the progression of highway cities along the way is one he can recite by memory: Stockton, Manteca, Salida, Modesto, the towns begin to look the same after the first forty five minutes. The route is one that's getting familiar… and familiar can be dangerous.

JT had cautioned him about becoming complacent, once- months after Clay's death, on a leisurely ride to Nowhere one Sunday afternoon; it was one of his father's first rides after being cleared to get back on his bike, so the pace was a little slower than usual. The road had been well-known, one he'd traveled many times on the back of his father's bike and in his mother's car over towards Oakland, and they'd stopped at a roadside stand for strawberries to take home to Gemma. They'd been sitting under a tree so JT could smoke a cigarette and Jax was on his fourth or fifth strawberry when JT'd snorted and tugged the bag out of his hands.

_"If your ma don't have enough of these to make a damn pie with, you're findin' Ope or someone else to ride back out here with ya to get more."_

Jax had scoffed, set about pointing out that not only did he know the road but that he was going on seventeen years old and didn't need anyone to fucking babysit his ass-_ especially_ Ope- when his father had cut him off with a disbelieving chuckle and a glare.

"_Jesus Christ, Jackson. Have you learned nothin' from me and my mistakes? How well d'ya think I knew that stretch of road where I got jumped by Clay's Mayan thugs? Or what about that curve on 580 that nearly ended me?" _  
_  
"That shit wasn't normal, Dad- guys lying in wait for you could've happened anywhere. And the accident- that had more to do with Lowell Sr. than the road-"_

"That ain't the point. We're makin' moves to get the club into a safer spot, sure- but even though the Mayans are copacetic right now, the Irish ain't too happy with me and the Niners are waitin' to see where that whole thing settles before decidin' which way to fall. So I don't want anyone ridin' alone past about Lodi while this all clears up, and I told ya that before."

"_I_ got_ it, Dad-"_

_"I ain't finished. You ever heard that old idiom- _familiarity breeds contempt_?"_

Jax had shaken his head, and his father took the moment to light a second cigarette.

_"Means that once you become too familiar with someone or something, you run the risk of losin' respect for it. Now, the original intent was to explain that once you get to know a person better, you tolerate their shit less and less; but losin' respect for a person and losin' respect for the road are two sorta different things that go by the same name, yeah?"_ Jax had nodded.

_"So I figure, a little change to the phrase could do us some good where the road's concerned- _familiarity breeds complacency_. On a new piece of highway, we're vigilant- eyes open for sharp curves, speed traps, potholes… but you ride a stretch of road enough times, you think you know it- the ins and outs, the dips and cracks, the landmarks- like the back of your hand, so to speak. And that complacency- that assumption that you know what's ahead of you, that disrespect of the road- can lead you to miss the signs that's somethin ain't right."_

_"I knew that Panhead almost as well as I know your Ma, and maybe I shoulda realized that somethin' was off- _would've_ if anything had been different- if the stop light between here and there woulda been red or if I'd have had to stop off for a pack of smokes or somethin'. But that didn't happen, and I got on my bike like I would any other day- hit that curve like I would any other day- because I've known where to ease off the throttle and onto the brake since a week after we rolled into Charming. Didn't notice an issue until it was too late."_

Jax had been sorely tempted to dismiss it all as paranoia- the knee-jerk reaction of a man who had nearly lost everything because of rank betrayal by someone he'd called a friend and was now saddled with the burdens of threats both real and hypothetical. As was typical of JT's advice, though, too much rang true- and Jax was never really sure if his father was talking about the road or his personal and club associates… or both.

In any case, Jax had long since made it habit to watch for interesting or out-of-place things along his routes, sometimes notating them in one of his many ever-present pocket notebooks; a hole punched into the brush at the side of the road could mean an enemy lying in wait, or a small family of coyotes. A sharp bend in the road that necessitates a slowdown by daylight could be nothing short of hazardous at night, and a roadside stand could serve the best fuckin' breakfast burritos he'd ever had- or easily hide a few Mayans, one Irish prick in a black Olds… or one biker queen in a black Cadillac.

He'd never quite grown the balls to ask JT- or anyone else, for that matter- about the status of the unofficial investigation into the incident with Maureen and McGee. His father had promised to bring he and Opie up to speed on things regarding Cameron Hayes and the Rogue River incident- and Hayes is still in Ireland, as far as he knows- but Jax isn't sure if that includes the other crimes he's suspected of, or not. He supposes it's no good worrying about the paint transfer on Maureen's car if there's no sign of the car necessary to test it against… that is, of course, unless that car resides a lot closer to home than even JT thinks.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head for the hundredth time, it seems, Jax sighs and guides the Dyna into the last gentle curve before the outskirts of Fresno- sliding into the right lane with Ope, behind Koz in the van and Tig on his new Street Bob. They're not even going all the way into Fresno itself, really; according to Tig, a few Fresno patches are escorting the truck from its origin near Bakersfield through Fresno to their meeting spot at a Sons-friendly truck stop just off 99. Then, SAMCRO's faction will escort the truck the rest of the way into Stockton; the reasoning behind all this shit is unknown to him, but prospecting so far has been a bunch of seemingly random tasks with little to no information. Why should this be any different?

Soon, the van slows and pulls into the exit lane, and Tig jerks his head to the right before following; _yeah, thanks, man, I couldn't have figured that shit out for myself._ They pull into a truck stop that's mostly empty, dust swirling around the diesel pumps and into the rig parking behind the main building- apparently Fresno isn't here yet. After crossing the parking lot, Kozik chooses the far corner of the lot- away from both the small convenience store and the highway- and eases the van to a stop; Tig, Opie, and Jax fall in beside it.

"So who'd Brewster send?" Kozik grunts as he slides out of the van, squinting in the late afternoon sun.

"Dunno," Tig responds, lighting a cigarette. "Does it matter?"

"Nah. I just bet at least one of 'em is Lewis, Louie… whatever the fuck his name is. That guy's _always_ late." Tig just shrugs, settling back on his bike like its a goddamn recliner, and offers Kozik a smoke. When he declines, all four descend into an easy silence, watching the traffic zip past on the highway- cars, semis, the occasional street bike, but no sign of the Fresno brothers or their escortee.

It's several minutes later- Tig's on his third cigarette, Kozik's flexing his hands, Ope's uncharacteristically silent, even for him, and Jax is racking his brain for something to say that won't piss Tig off- when a Harley approaches from the south and takes the exit. As always when bikes are involved, Jax's ears perk up, and he can tell the same is true of all three of the others- it isn't until he's almost right in front of the store itself that Jax can see that the rider isn't wearing a kutte; he's a real Willie Nelson looking dude, sporting both the braid and the feathers. Actually, Jax muses to himself, if he were a little younger, wearing leathers and had several more tats, he'd look a whole lot like-

"Guy's a dead ringer for Otto in fifteen years," Koz chuckles, and Jax and Opie join in- evidently, they'd all been thinking the same thing.

"Yeah, well, in fifteen years, Otto could still be locked up," Tig says, quietly, and suddenly, the mood is heavy. There's already a Son serving a long sentence- Lenny- and he'd been locked up since Jax was a kid; Otto would be the second if these murder charges stick, and from everything Jax knows, he's looking at some serious time. The thought of spending years of his life- _decades _of his life- away from Tara, away from his club and family- has Jax's stomach twisting, and he knows as well as he knows the ins and outs of the Beretta tucked into his waistband that if he'd been jumped by some thugs, he'd not have hesitated to use it. Christ, it could have been any one of them…

"What's up with his case, anyway?" Opie asks, far too casually.

"Not a whole hell of a lot," Kozik answers, shaking his head, somberly. "Judge's got it out for us, and probably the DA too- that prick's the one that was supposed to handle Clay's case before he went missin'. Looks like they're gonna tie it up in red tape as long as they can, try to get Otto to either share some club information or wait for him to pull some shit for the club while he's inside they can use against him." Opie curses, runs a hand over his face before asking his next question.

"This judge- who the fuck_ is_ he?"

"What, Prospect, you gonna look him up, offer him a blowie in exchange for information?" Tig snarks, nastily. "Or maybe you can track down the DA, convince him that Otto's just _such a nice guy..._" His voice, now sickeningly sweet, has no effect whatsoever on Ope, who just shakes his head, somberly.

"I dunno, man, I just feel... _shitty_. Like there's somethin' the club could be doin'-" Kozik frowns, breaks in before Tig can spout whatever's on his mind- which isn't anything good, since his face is twisted in disbelief.

"All this shit's tied up in lawyer mumbo-jumbo, Ope. Rosen told Piney and JT his hands are tied, that everything they're doin' to delay the case is a hundred percent legal; but also that if Otto can keep his shit together there ain't no way a jury's gonna look at one man gettin' jumped by three as first degree murder. He's hopin' for manslaughter, but Otto's gotta show some good faith, too- keep his nose clean and help prove that this shit only happened_ because_ he got attacked."

For the first time, Jax notices- _really _notices- how much this Otto shit is troubling Opie; his friend looks almost ill, borderline desperate to come up with some solution for Otto… except he can't. Not from the outside, and especially not as a fuckin' prospect. Ope strokes his beard as Jax eyes him, uneasily, and asks his own question, unwilling to let Opie say anything to further incite Tig.

"I'm sure Rosen filled Otto in… but we all know the guy's got a short fuse. They lettin' him have visitors yet? Maybe someone could-"

"Trust me, boys, whatever you're thinkin', it's been considered." Tig says, grimly, flicking away his cigarette butt. "Once they allow visitation, LuAnn's goin' in to uh, _reassure _him that the club's gonna do what we can to get him out ASAP. Conjugals have a way of settin' even a guy like Otto at ease."

"He wouldn't rat." Opie's voice is firm, though he's refusing to look at any of them, choosing to focus on the road instead.

"We _know_ that, Ope. It ain't about bein' nervous he'd rat… but a guy like Otto, he acts before thinkin'. The law keeps us cut off from him and he starts wondering if we're all behind him, starts lettin' the DA and the guys inside get under his skin, he could be persuaded to do somethin' to secure protection. Get himself into more trouble… which is what they're hopin' for. Judge wants to make an example out of him and they're just waitin' for him to fuck up so they can do that." Stony acceptance seems to fill in the cracks on Opie's face, and he glances carefully at them all before responding, determinedly.

"Well, then someone needs to get in there and let him know. LuAnn's probably the only thing he cares about outside the club, but all this club shit, it just ain't the same comin' from an old lady. Maybe JT-"

"Kid, the way this shit's been goin', it'll be a month before he's allowed visitors; even then, there ain't no way they're letting the President of SAMCRO in to see him."

"Well then_ I'll_ go. I owe it to him- he's my sponsor." Opie's voice is fierce, now, insistent in a way Jax hadn't seen him in quite a while. No doubt, Jax would be feeling the same way were it Chibs that was locked up… but then again Chibs and Otto are also completely fuckin' different. Otto's got a hair-trigger temper despite his overall easy-going exterior, and the concern that he's going to feel the need to do something drastic after being inside and treated like a goddamn animal for a few months is a real one.

"Christ, Prospect, that's actually a decent idea," Tig muses, sliding off his bike and angling his head towards the road, where a large box truck, flanked by four bikes, is taking their exit. "But for now, our Amish friends are here."

* * *

Jax is somewhat disappointed, even a hundred miles back towards Stockton, to have learned that the _Amish friends_ are no more than a truckload of heavy, handcrafted Amish furniture. He'd been mildly amused, however, to see that Thor the blonde prospect- now a full patch- had given him a wide berth during the exchange. In fact, even when Brewster himself- who'd jovially claimed to enjoy these easy protection runs every once in awhile- had asked after Tara, Thor hadn't had shit to say. And while he wouldn't have hated another chance to get his hands- or fists- on the prick, Jax can acknowledge that a meet in a parking lot along a busy highway probably hadn't been the ideal location.

There'd been some of the usual bullshitting, a rundown on the Cameron Hayes situation- apparently, both clubs are getting frustrated twiddling their thumbs and waiting for either the Irishman or his car to make an appearance stateside- and then the truck driver had returned from the can, ending all discussions of club business, aside from that which had been currently at hand.

Apparently, the guy had a drug debt with one of the Mayans chapters down near Bakersfield and they'd gotten their hands on his rig, holding his cargo hostage until he paid up. When the Mayans had learned that Unser was the owner of the trucking company, they'd forced the guy to put in a call to him and ask him to reach out to JT. Evidently, some sort of deal had been reached- SAMCRO had covered all or part of the debt, the Mayans had backed off, Unser didn't have to pay the guy for the run, and SAMCRO had agreed to provide a bit of a security detail just in case the Mayans didn't believe the deal was closed.

Jax shakes his head as he steers the Dyna onto the exit ramp, following the truck and the other Sons down the ramp and onto a side street on the outskirts of Stockton. _Fuckin' drugs, man- _he'll never understand the draw, the pull some of the harder shit has over people; hell, even Kozik had been sober since Jax had known him, but he can't help wondering what the guy thinks of runs like the one today.

A joint or two is one thing, but even though SAMCRO keeps the drugs out of Charming, Jax had seen more than one hangaround suffering the effects of a bad trip, and there have been a few croweaters over the years that Gemma had had to put through SAMCRO rehab back in the apartment- whatever that is. For probably the hundredth time in his life, Jax thanks the powers that be that Tara is who she is… and that he can rest easy in his confidence that she'll never drag them into that chaos.

Then, they're rumbling into the parking lot of a large warehouse, dust billowing from beneath the truck's tires and into Jax's path, and it takes a moment for the dust to clear; when it does, a thin, aging man in a set of faded, blue coveralls approaches. The relief on his face is palpable- evidently, this guy's_ really_ fuckin' invested in maintaining his boss's stock of furniture. He waits until the truck's backed up to the loading dock, then rushes to the driver's side, speaking almost before the driver has the chance to open the door.

"Jesus_ Christ_, Shane, you scared the shit outta me…" and before Jax knows it, the two men are hugging, briefly, before the older man braces back and fixes the trucker- Shane, apparently- with a glare. "The_ fuck_were you thinking, gettin' that deep in debt with those pricks? You told me you'd stopped usin'-"

"It ain't that big a deal, Pop. And I _did_ stop, debt was old," Shane protests. The older man shakes his head, wearily.

"It better be, 'cause I don't know how much longer I can keep puttin' myself out on a limb like this. Took every favor I had owed to me to get you this job and I _promised _Wayne Unser you were outta this shit. But now- now, you fucked your job _and_ my word." More incensed than he is weary, now, the man rounds, desperately on his son.

"Uh, sir?" Kozik ventures, stopping the man's lecture in its tracks. "Unser's not gonna can your kid- not if he stays off the junk and steers clear of the Mayans." He fixes his gaze on the driver, who's slumped, guiltily, against the closed cab door. "But both SAMCRO and Unser'll be keepin' a close eye from now on, I can guarantee that." Relieved, Shane nods, and- though he seems hesitant to accept the word of a biker- the father follows suit.

"'Preciate that, I do. And if there's anything I can do for either you or Unser to help set things right in the meantime, I'll do it." His eyes flit to his son again and he winces, scratching the back of his neck as his voice drops. "I can't say I've got the cash to pay ya back at the moment, and _he _sure as hell don't." He jerks his head towards the warehouse, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. "But anything else…" The man's voice trails off as Tig, Kozik, and Opie shrug amicably.

"Naw, man, only piece of furniture I got use for is a bed," Tig cracks dirtily, catching the man's drift. "Unless the Amish make one with some sort of cage underneath-"

"_Jesus Christ, Tiggy_…" Kozik says for probably the third time today, closing his eyes.

"What?"

"Actually... " Jax interjects uncertainly, prompting a host of raised eyebrows from the others. "You got a queen-size in there you can spare?" The older man nods agreeably, seemingly eager to at least begin settling the score.

"Bed frame, mattress, or both?"

"Uh, just the mattress, I think- she's already got the bed." A knowing smile dawns on Ope's face as he puts two and two together, and Kozik, too, grins as the man heads inside, beckoning for his son the trucker to follow.

"You and Tara, huh?" Tig cackles, "Guess you'll-"

"Shut up, Tig," is all Kozik has to say, and- as if by miracle- Tig actually does shut up, for once. "You two had some shit to say to me this morning, and now I'll give you my advice, Jax," Koz continues, leaning against his bike. "Doc, well… she's stubborn. Had to get that apartment on her own terms, wouldn't let Angela set her up with any furniture or anythin' that wasn't already in there or in the shed- even though Angela pointed out that a furnished apartment would be a draw long after whenever Tara moves out." Christ, Jax has to try not to think about that- Tara moving out, everything that entails... he's still getting used to _this_move.

"And you saw how she reacted to that A/C unit, even though she did a good job of hidin' it to be polite… Anyway, it's _different _comin' from you- she's practically your old lady, and unless I'm guessin' wrong, you'll be there as many nights as you can." Both of them ignore the scoff that comes from Tig as the trucker and his father emerge from the building carrying a plush-looking, plastic wrapped mattress. "I guess I'm just sayin'... it would probably be best if you had this thing in the apartment and ready to go before she gets back from her test. Surprise her a little bit, take her mind off the fact that her stubborn ass didn't go out and work a thousand hours at minimum wage to go buy it herself, y'know?" Grinning, Kozik claps him on the shoulder and turns to head towards the van. Yeah, he's got a point; Jax likes the guy, he really does- has always liked him, actually- and he's realizing now he has to get past the bullshit Gemma had put into his head.

"Guess it's a good thing we brought the van, huh?" Ope says under his breath, nudging Jax in the side as they move to help with the mattress. "Though, I'd've enjoyed watchin' you try to get this thing back to Charming on the back of your bike."

All Jax can do is laugh, and check his watch as the calculations begin in his head- Tara's test is scheduled to start in about twenty minutes; he's got nearly twice that in driving time just to get back to Charming, plus unloading… _Shit,_ he's missing the test for sure, probably missing her walking out of the DMV with her license- but there's no way in hell he's missing out on the celebration.

* * *

It takes but one pass down Charming's Main Street to locate the Cutlass, though technically, it's Jax's second- no, third- stop. First, he'd persuaded the guys to stop with him at the florist- who was just locking up for the day- and bought the last arrangement in the case; thankfully, it actually seems to suit Tara- all delicate lilies with a few heady roses sprinkled throughout. Then, it was back to Tara's apartment, where Kozik and Ope had the mattress halfway up the back stairs before Jax had even slid off his bike.

"Just put it on the floor, I got to find time to put the damn bed together, and today ain't the day," he'd said after they'd wrangled the mattress through the apartment door. That had been met with an exasperated look from Ope, and Kozik had chuckled and shooed both of them out, pausing by the headboard and footboard propped against the wall.

"Go on, find the girls and I'll put this thing together real quick- looks like it only takes those eight bolts taped to the headboard. Just gimme uh… about a half hour." Then, he'd waved off Jax's thanks and told them to send Tig back to T-W if he was still hanging out by the dog run- which he had been. Jax can't figure out what the fuck is up with Tig and this dog, but as long as there's nothing weird going on, anything that pushes TIg along the path towards acting like a human being at least some of the time is fine by him.

The Cutlass is alone at the curb in front of the diner- and Jax can't decide if that's a good or a bad sign; surely, Donna wouldn't have suggested Tara hang out at the diner if she'd bombed the test, would she? And they'd likely driven over together, just as Jax himself had planned as recently as this morning; he'd wanted to drive the Cutlass to the DMV, then, when Tara passed her test- and she_ had_ to pass, because it's almost impossible to imagine Tara not accomplishing something she'd set her mind to- he'd planned on letting her drive it back. Maybe convince her to pull off at some park on the way and re-christen the backseat…

Shaking off that train of thought- no sense in walking into the diner with a fuckin' hard-on- Jax hangs his helmet from the far handlebar and waits a moment for Ope to catch up.

"You think she passed, bro?" Opie asks- seeming almost nervous, himself, as they approach the front of the building. Jax just shrugs.

"I hope so- I'll tell ya one thing, driving ain't her strong suit, but then again… it's a _test._ And if anything's Tara's strong suit, it's tests." Ope chuckles and jerks his head towards the interior of the diner, visible through the glass door at the entrance.

"Well, they're smilin'. That's gotta be good, right?"

Tara and Donna _are_ smiling- in fact, Tara's practically beaming as Jax enters the diner, sending the bell above the doorway jingling.

"Do I even need to ask?" is all he manages to get out before she's wrapped around him in the middle of the restaurant, pressing her cheek to his chest. He dips his head to nuzzle the top of hers, and it's only a moment before she lifts shining eyes to his.

"You're looking at Charming's newest licensed driver!" And then he's pressing a hard kiss to her lips, mostly ignoring Opie's running commentary in the background about how they should maul each other in the privacy of blah blah blah. She melts into him a little, her shaky sigh telling him she'd been more nervous than she'd let on and even now is still grasping the reality- the _freedom-_ of being able to drive wherever the fuck she wants, _whenever_ the fuck she wants.

"C'mon, let's go sit down."

The table is littered with small plates- so they've already eaten- and Opie's stacking a few of them to push out of the way as he slides into the booth.

"What the hell'd you two order that needed fifteen plates?" he asks, mystified, and Donna and Tara glance at each other before dissolving into fits of laughter.

"Only a side of fries."

"And a couple pancakes."

"Some bacon, too."

"Small hot fudge sundae-"

"No, _that _was a large. The _butterscotch_ was a small because Miss Priss here doesn't like butterscotch. Who the hell doesn't like butterscotch?"

"Shut it. And some- what the hell were those things again?"

"Cheese curds."

"Oh yeah, fried cheese. _To die for._ Side of ranch to dip 'em in… except Donna's a nasty ass that dunks her fried foods in ice cream."

"Don't knock it 'til ya tried it, Knowles."

And on they go, despite fits of occasional giggles; it's like listening to a verbal fuckin' tennis match and by the end, Jax and Opie are laughing, themselves.

"Jesus Christ, you two…" Jax chuckles, shaking his head. "Well, Ope and I haven't eaten yet- any chance the waitress ain't out back havin' a cigarette and hidin' from you?"

The waitress is, in fact, out for a smoke break, but Jax barely notices the excessive amount of time it takes both to order _and _get his food, even as the diner begins to fill up; he's too busy enjoying just sitting with his friends and sipping on a Coke, leaning into the corner of the booth with Tara pressed against him, her feet propped up on the seat. All of Ope's fretting about Otto, his own about the identity of Maureen's possible murderer… both are long gone as he eats the best, greasiest bacon cheeseburger this side of the Sierra Nevadas and gives Tara endless shit about stealing his fries.

Jax is poking at the ice in the bottom of his plastic cup, simultaneously anxious to get Tara alone and reluctant for this time with just the four of them- their first here in the diner, if not altogether as far as Jax can figure, since before prospecting had begun- when Opie groans and stretches, sending Donna's head bumping from his shoulder to his chest.

"I was _comfortable_, ass-" she scolds, batting away Opie's hands, which are now intent on poking at her sides.

"Well, let's go be comfortable someplace else. I got drug outta bed at seven on a Saturday I didn't even have to be at the garage to go carry some boxes, the world's heaviest dresser, and a goddamn air conditioner. _Then,_ I had to ride my ass clear to Fresno and back so some idiot could keep his job and keep his daddy off his back…And now-" Ope exaggerates a yawn, prodding Donna to slide out of the booth before him, "the one night that half of SAMCRO is out of town and we don't have to be at the clubhouse for some bullshit until all hours of the morning, all I wanna do is sit on my ass for a while and then sleep for a good twelve hours."

"Ouch, Don." Tara teases, scooting out of the booth herself. "Guess you might as well just go on home-"

Her words are cut off by Opie slinging his arm around her neck and flexing, tauntingly.

"Watch it, Knowles," he leers, releasing her to Jax so he can grab Donna's hand. "Besides- at least I got an actual _bed _to go sleep in, whether it's at the clubhouse or over at Donna's place." He raises an eyebrow wickedly at Tara "You two plannin' on stayin' over at hotel SAMCRO tonight? I'd think it'd be a hell of a lot safer than that goddamn air mattress." Tara just grins up at him and threads her own fingers through Jax's.

"Well, safe or not, I'm going to be spending tonight in my own apartment, no matter what; _and,_ I'll be getting there by driving my own car." As Ope chuckles, however, Tara's face grows serious. "I have you guys to thank for that," she asserts, then shifts, her eyes sliding to Jax's own, then Donna's and Opie's by turn. "I mean it, guys- thank you. For everything." Opie reaches out to ruffle her hair with a large hand, which she ducks in favor of standing on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, then bestows the same upon Donna.

"I'll be over tomorrow to help you finish unpacking if you want," Donna says, right before Ope tugs her towards the entrance; and for the first time, it occurs to Jax just how much it must mean to his girl to have someone like Donna- another woman who not only understands what it's like to love a SAMCRO prospect, but who has dreams and goals outside the club, herself. For all their similarities, however, Tara and Donna are proving to be different, as well; Tara's dreams take her away from Charming- away from _Jax_. Donna's seeming content to stay here, build a future in Charming with Ope, and for a moment sheer, goddamn envy swamps Jax as he watches his best friend and his best friend's girl leave the diner hand in hand.

* * *

"So how'd I do?"

Tara's standing at the bottom of the garage apartment steps with a glint of pride in those gorgeous green eyes, and for once, Jax can hardly bear to even tease her about her driving.

"You did great, Babe. I'd have thought it was your old man behind the wheel-" a slow grin appears on her pink lips "-except…" Just like that, the grin disappears, and he's so eager to get her smiling again that he doesn't let his last word hang like he'd meant to, just pulls her into his arms and lays a soft kiss on her lips. "_Except_," he repeats, murmuring against her mouth, only continuing once she's breathless, "turns out, the driver was way too beautiful to be some old man." He kisses her again, feels her breath hitch again. "And then I got_ here_, found out she's got her own place-" another kiss "-and it just so happens I find that very sexy."

"Mmmm," Tara hums, her eyes drifting closed for a half-second, centimeters from his own; then, she's taking a step back, finding his hands with hers, and looking up at him through those full, dark lashes. "Well, it just so happens I _do _have my own place…" She pauses, bites her lower lip, and suddenly, Jax has the urge to frame her face with his hands and reclaim it, tug it from between her teeth and suck it wholly into his mouth, then work his way down her body…

He's so caught up in his thoughts- the fantasies he always seems to be having unless he's with her, inside her- that he almost misses the rest of what she's saying. It's not until she takes a second step back and up onto the first step, gives his hands a gentle pull, that it registers.

"You want to come in?" she'd asked, almost shyly, as if they hadn't been upstairs alone hours ago, together for a matter of years, or practically inseparable since childhood.

"You sure?" he responds, playing the game she'd started- _or had he?_

"I've never been surer of anything in my life," she says, quietly, tossing him a brilliant smile over her shoulder and leading him by the hand up the stairs to her apartment. And somehow, it feels like the first time, like it's all brand new- and Jax supposes it is, in a way. He waits for her to unlock the door- he'll have to get his key back from Koz tomorrow- and follows her into her apartment… until she stops dead just inside the door.

Jax can hear Tara let out a slow breath, reaching out blindly to hang her keys from the hook near the door, and then she's surveying the apartment, hands on her hips. Softly clicking the door closed behind him- unsure all of a sudden that finding her a mattress had been the right move considering her fiery independent streak, especially regarding this apartment- he closes the steps between them and circles her waist with his arms, rests his cheek on the top of her head.

The place is dimly lit with only the soft light above the kitchen sink switched on, the aging glass globe encasing it casting the foot of the newly assembled bed nearest it- and the lower half of its almost unreasonably fat mattress- in an an almost amber hue. Nearby, the flowers he'd purchased rest on the small kitchen table, their scent filling the small space- and next to them is a tall green bottle. He has barely a moment to ponder what that is, or where it had come from, before Tara's turning in his arms and looping her own arms about his neck. She's quiet, still a moment, before raising her eyes to his and asking simply-

"The bed?" He smiles, deciding to keep it light, avoid a discussion similar to the one they'd had earlier regarding her father.

"Furniture warehouse guy over in Stockton owed the club a favor- figured it was as good a housewarming gift as any." There's a beat of silence, but then Jax is relieved when Tara's full lips curve into a smile.

"Only Jackson Teller would consider a mattress an appropriate housewarming gift." She quirks a perfect brow at him and suddenly, he can't help but nip at her lower lip, then gently nudge her jaw aside so he can find his favorite spot on her neck- the one that seems made for him- and tease it with his teeth before mumbling into her skin.

"It ain't the _only_ one, Babe." He presses her into him, lets his rapidly hardening cock- pocketed against her stomach- do the rest of the speaking for him as he takes his fill of her neck, finding her pulse point and drawing the skin gently into his mouth before scattering kisses under her jaw, behind her ear, and burying his fingers in her hair. Her voice is strained, almost strangled when it comes, filling his ear with her next question.

"And the flowers?" He smiles again, his lips curving against her skin.

"Just 'cause I love you."

"Uh huh-" she sounds skeptical, but doesn't press the issue. "What about the bottle?"

Irrepressibly turned on, driven almost to distraction by her pliant body, her sweet scent, and just how much he loves her, Jax had all but forgotten about the mysterious green bottle that had appeared at some point during his absence from the apartment. Reluctantly, he emerges from his happy place in the crook of her neck to tug her across the room to the table. The bottle- at closer glance, a bottle of California champagne of some sort- is sitting atop a small, white, square, which Tara picks up with delicate fingers.

"Welcome home! Love, SAMCRO," she reads from the card- the flowing script Jax glimpses over her shoulder a dead giveaway that Gemma had, at some point, been inside the apartment. _Jesus Christ… _His mother had been uncharacteristically mum about the whole thing, for once not offering her opinion or advice- which would have been unsolicited- on Tara's leaving the clubhouse. JT's steadfast support of the idea had probably been the driving force behind her staying out of it, but Jax immediately recognizes the note for what it is: his mother's attempt to make sure that- even outside the confines of the compound, Tara remembers that Charming is home, and SAMCRO is family.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind- he'll be damned if Gemma or anyone else is going to intrude on even one more second of Tara's first night here- Jax lets his fingers drift down Tara's arm, gently removing the card from her hand and letting it flutter, forgotten, to the table. He reaches beyond her to pick up the bottle, eager to pick up where they'd left off.

"Better stay clear, Babe," Jax says, finding that the edge of just how much he wants her is creeping into his voice, although he also finds that he's unable to bring himself to care. Reluctantly, he disentangles himself from her to pull at the foil at the bottle's neck and twist the coiled wire from the top; he makes short work of the cork, sending it sailing somewhere across the room, but cares little where it lands- he's only got eyes for Tara.

She'd moved quickly once he'd released her- opening one cabinet, than another- but now Jax is quicker, behind her before she can turn around, setting the bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter next to her and pressing his hips forward to trap her against the counter so he can push his cock against her ass. He fills his hands with her hair- lets the lingering scent of mint fill his nostrils before drawing it in a silky curtain over her shoulder, giving him access to her neck once more. Her pulse is thrumming crazily against her delicate skin, and Jax can't resist dipping his head to taste her; a brush of his lips and warm, wet suction with a hint of teeth has her breath quickening by the time she manages to speak, faintly.

"I don't think I have champagne flutes or even wine glasses-"

"Don't need 'em." he breathes somewhere near her ear, teasing the lobe, too, with lips and teeth before sucking it into his mouth altogether. The resulting shudder that ripples through her body and has the soft, fine hairs rising on her neck seems, somehow, contagious... and what begins as a pleasant, thrilling shiver ends with him practically quaking in his need to have her- _all_ of her. To that end, he spins her around almost roughly, stepping back only briefly out of necessity; then, just as quickly as he'd moved her, he's on her, pushing her back into the countertop with his hips and claiming her mouth with a kiss that's almost bruising.

Her soft, hot mouth, the nearly impossibly smooth expanse of skin available to him just below the hem of her tank top, the tendrils of glossy hair slipping through his fingertips, the sheer heat of her he can feel even through her jeans… he's pretty much a goner already and all he can do is grab her by the backs of the thighs and lift her onto the countertop so he can continue his assault on her mouth. She has him practically ready to beg, ready to strip them both and bury himself in her like he'd wanted ever since he'd had her on the air mattress this morning; then, Jax curses, silently, to himself. _Shit,_ he's got to slow things down- got to make this last, make this first night in her apartment special for her- though maybe that's not what she wants, judging by the way she's fumbling with his belt, snaking a leg around him in an unsuccessful attempt to get impossibly closer.

Groaning, Jax draws back, leaves her lips wet and swollen, her hair mussed- _Christ_, she's actually pouting at him and it's the most adorable fucking thing he's ever seen.

"Thought we should get to that champagne before things get outta hand, here." And although the look on her face tells him that she wouldn't likely have given a shit if they'd just let it go flat and left it for the flies, Tara nods- though she keeps her leg in place, curled around his hip and thigh, and makes no move to disentangle her fingers from his hair. Jax can't resist smirking at her slightly tortured expression as he grips the bottle and raises it to her in a mock toast.

She manages to smile at him as he takes a swig, then backhands his mouth and passes the bottle over to her, which is completely his undoing. Christ, he's never found himself jealous of an inanimate object before, but as Tara wraps her lips around the bottle, tilts some of the liquid down her throat, he just can't take it anymore. Dragging it from her hand and fusing his lips to hers, the effervescence lingering on her tongue and leaving a hint of the bubbly tingling on his own, he removes the last vestiges of sweetness from her inner depths before returning to the bottle for more. This time, it's her tongue that comes seeking his, cool from the champagne and almost electric with the sensation, tangling together until that, too just isn't enough.

Tara's hands find his belt buckle again, making short work of it this time and popping the button and lowering his zipper in the process. Before he can think, her small hand is slipping beneath his waistband, skimming her short nails down his ass and pulling him ever closer. Breathlessly, he finds the edge of her tank top and skims it over her head, tossing it away somewhere in the room; before it hits the floor, she's undoing the front clasp of her bra and sliding the straps down her shoulders, exposing the tight, pink buds that are the subject of half his dreams about her- and probably _more_ than half of his daydreams.

She, too, is impatient, nearly ripping his shirt in her attempt to pull it up his body, and he helps her along by yanking it over his head and dropping it without a care in the world as to where it lands, then delves back into her mouth, his hands framing her face as he finds himself unable to control the words he whispers between kisses- though he's more than certain by now that he means them. Being close to her like this is no less a mindfuck than it had been the day he'd found her in Opie's truck, or the night he'd first kissed and touched her. Only now… _now, _she's his, and the explosion of sensation, the tug at his heart to do more- _be_ more- for her, and the way his every thought seems to come pouring out of his lips sometimes, well… that's all a part of_ them_ he wouldn't give up for a hundred faceless blondes.

He's palming her breasts, skimming a thumb across a hard nipple while sucking kisses down her collarbone, when Tara's soft moan fills the room, snapping him back into reality for a brief, critical, moment. They've fucked their way across Redwood- in the back of the Cutlass, at the cabin, in parks, on beaches, in the apartment at the clubhouse, his childhood bedroom and hers… but they'd rarely felt truly alone. And tonight, their _first _night here together- even though he'd like nothing better than to strip her naked and take her right there on the kitchen counter- he has to remind himself he'd found her that mattress for a reason.

Groaning, Jax drags his hands from his heaven on earth to span across her hips, dragging her ass forward on the countertop until she's flush with him.

"Hang on, Babe," he fairly growls, and then,he's picking her up as easily as he does the bottle of champagne a half-second later, his lips instantly finding hers again as he crosses the apartment with Tara wrapped around him and his loosened jeans hanging off his ass. When his knees touch the bed, he lays her down gently, momentarily grateful Kozik- _or had it been Gemma_\- had seen fit to at least toss a blanket over the bed. Unwilling to waste any more time, he sheds his jeans, then the boxers, kicking them into a heap at the foot of the bed. Jax grins at her heated gaze and takes another swig of champagne, dropping to the bed and curling around her to imprint the taste into her mouth as well.

"You want some more?" Jax mumbles, his breath mingling with hers, and at her strained _Mmmhmm,_ tilts the bottle just enough to drizzle a bit of the bubbly liquid into her mouth; her lips curl into a languid smile and he tips the bottle again, this time with his own not far behind. It's a while before he surfaces this time, his tongue stroking hers long after the taste of the wine is gone, but as he gives her lip one last nibble and readies himself to move down her body, an idea rapidly forming, he hears only one word.

"_More._"

Jax tilts the bottle yet again, smirking as Tara's eyes widen, realizing too late where he's headed; she jerks a bit as the cool liquid lands on the rosy tip of her breast, causing it to run in rivulets towards the hollow between them. Wordlessly, Jax dips his head to run his tongue from where the bit of bubbly has pooled, up to the crest of her breast and around the peak, swirling ever closer to the nipple that's been straining for his attention since he'd uncovered it minutes ago. Yet, all he gives it is a brief caress with the tip of his tongue before he's shifting to drizzle more on her other nipple; this time, Tara stays still, her eyes fluttering closed, and he rewards her by instantly sucking that one fully into his mouth before tracing the path the wine had taken on its gentle slope down, down, down… down to where the two tiny streams had met and formed a slightly larger river, halting just short of her navel. This too, he bestows with a small dribble of champagne, spreading it with gentle kisses, rubbing the taste of it into her skin even as he skims her shorts and panties down those long, long legs.

Then, she's whimpering softly as he takes a final swig- unsure if he's dizzy from the wine or from her- and ditches the half-empty bottle somewhere nearby, finding her small, hard bud and closing his mouth over the center of all her pleasure, letting the remnants of the cool champagne in his mouth meet her hot, silken skin. She jackknifes off the bed so he holds her hips fast, refusing to let her pull away from him, and revels in the taste of her- something no wine on earth can rival.

The nearly full day of teasing, being interrupted right before he'd gotten where he truly wanted to go, the freedom, the sheer isolation… all of it must be getting to her, because suddenly, she's on the brink, twisting and writing beneath him, tugging at his hair with her slender fingers. She's always been eager, responsive, but never a quick trigger, and suddenly Jax wants to feel her- _all _of her- as _she_ feels everything he's giving her. He slides up her body, damp from both champagne and the sheen of sweat that tells him she's close to toppling over the edge, and guides his cock into her at long last.

Their sighs mingle as he begins moving- both unwilling and unable to linger any more.

"God, Jackson…" she groans as he snaps his hips into hers, rolling underneath him and pushing her breasts towards him. He takes the hint, suckling first one, then the other in rhythm with his thrusts, savoring the taste of the remaining wine mingling with her salty skin. It's moments before she tenses, a strangled moan dropping from her lips, but he looms over her, shakes his head before ducking to whisper in her ear.

"There's no one here to hear you, Babe. No one but you and me."

And, as if all she'd been waiting for were his words- permission, somehow, to take full advantage of the sanctuary of her own apartment- the moan gives way to a full-fledged cry and she's gripping both a fistful of his hair and the meat of his hip, but somehow squeezing him even tighter from inside. _God,_ he's almost there himself; desperate to finally find his release after playing at it for what seems like hours, Jax buries himself in her neck, still bared to him from the very first time he'd made her scream moments ago, and chases his pleasure. He's lost again in moments, whispering words of love that contrast sharply with the utter, driving force with which he's loving her, and though he's not sure what he groans right before he reaches his peak- for once not having to give a fuck if the guys or some random park ranger can hear- he's pretty sure what he shouts as he falls into his own oblivion is somewhere along the lines of how fucking glad he is that she's his, and how fucking much he loves her.

Minutes later, they're dozing off, limbs tangled, breaths slowing, when Tara's new A/C kicks on.

"Guess we raised the temperature in here a little bit," Jax jokes, picking up her hand and laying a kiss on the palm before settling it on his heart.

"Mmmm…" is all Tara responds, sleepily, snuggling into his chest- until her eyes snap open.

"What is it?" Jax asks, immediately concerned, struggling to sit up as sheer disappointment overtakes her gorgeous face.

"It's nothing…" she looks away, briefly, her palm pressing against his chest, urging him to stay with her. Then- "It's just that I wanted to toast you, too. Only, I didn't get the chance." Smiling softly in relief, Jax shrugs a bit, drawing her closer once again.

"I _didn't_ toast you, Babe- hell, I didn't actually even _say _anything." He presses a kiss to her temple, running his fingers lazily down her arm. "Though I guess if I had, it'd be- 'to you, my true North'." Tara, too, smiles, and lets her nails skim up and down his chest.

"And if_ I_ had, it'd be- 'to you, _'my working week and my Sunday rest''_. I'm not a writer, Jax, but even I can quote poetry… Although-" her hand drifts lower and- to Jax's surprise, though, really nothing should surprise him where they're concerned anymore- his cock twitches in its resting place against her hip. "That isn't exactly what I meant."

This time, her grin is sinful, decadent, and before he knows it, she's rolling over him and leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve the bottle of champagne. Then, she straddles his hips, pressing against him in a way that has the momentary twitch in him surging fully to life at the sight of her, gloriously nude above him, mossy eyes flashing in anticipation.

"Just lie back, Baby…" And Jax does, closing his eyes to await another turn at ecstasy.


	15. Ch 15

****I own nothing you recognize****

_Name and describe the six types of functional groups, and give two examples of each._

The glossy print of the textbook- an aptly, if rather drily, titled _Introduction to Organic Chemistry_\- is beginning to swim in front of Tara's eyes, blending words, formulae, and God knows what else into a seamless, gray landscape. _Time for a break,_ she surmises, knowing her own limits as well as she knows her own apartment by now- the latter of which is thankfully quiet, disarmingly cozy, and the first place she's felt truly at home since her mother had died. The kitchen chair is hard, but the tea kettle's beginning to simmer pleasantly on the stove behind her as Tara stretches, taking a moment to draw in the homey scene around her.

Her choices had been deliberate; her way, she supposes, of injecting some of what she'd been missing at both the clubhouse and her father's house into her surroundings- comfort that's physical even when she herself is restless, calm surroundings when school, the club, and Jax are chaotic and her mind's a virtual storm. As such, she'd chosen a soft chenille throw at the foot of her bed, which is itself dressed invitingly in simple, lush, white down and muted sage sheets. A fat, paisley side chair is nearby- one of her favorite garage sale finds- nestled under a reading lamp/side table combination that's perfect for the small apartment. Those, Gemma had offered her after she'd decided to repurpose the small office at the back of the house to a play area for Trinity and her ever-growing collection of dolls from various American time periods- one that inspires pleasant memories for Tara and produces an inevitable, yet fond, eye roll from Jax.

JT's old Selectric typewriter, too, had found its way into the apartment- he'd given it to Tara and Jax the same day they'd come to pick up the lamp and table. The twinkle in his eye belied the solemn promises he'd extracted from her: namely, to use it in good health, to be careful of the 'J' because it sometimes sticks due to the number of times a much younger Jackson had banged his name out on the aging keys, and to let JT borrow it back should he ever finish collecting his thoughts on the events that had unfolded since he'd completed his last manuscript. This last bit had been said as JT absently patted at his kutte pocket, indicating his propensity- like his son's- to jot down his thoughts in tiny little notebooks.

Tara's eyes travel, unbidden, to the small shelves she and Jax had installed in the alcove on each side of the bed one Sunday afternoon after she'd lamented the lack of space for a nightstand. The one on the side that's become hers, nights Jax stays over, holds a small ceramic dish to house the feather ring Jax had given her that first Christmas and her singular pair of earrings- delicate pearl studs that had been her mother's long ago; this is perched atop the book of poetry he'd given her for her birthday the past spring. Jax's, however… she chuckles as she takes in the three empty water glasses- one barely teetering at the edge- several keys she's not sure she wants to know the origins of, and a tilting stack of the small notebooks both Jax and JT favor.

Tara pushes her chair back from the table and stretches- eyes lingering, almost longingly, at the evidence of his presence in the apartment. Two nights ago, Jax had crawled into bed next to her at nearly four AM; the next, he'd failed to show up at the apartment at all, calling at nearly midnight to let her know they'd gotten held up somewhere in Nevada. Today, she'd heard absolutely nothing, which was somehow less frustrating than the call had been- probably because she hadn't had to hear the muffled music and shouts of laughter in the background, confirmation that wherever SAMCRO went, there was a party.

Aside from the last few, Jax had spent many- maybe even most- of his nights at the apartment since she'd moved in- though Tara can't remember the last time he'd made it there before the wee hours of the morning; in fact, it might have been that first, glorious night they'd spent in the place, adrift in a haze brought on by the isolation, the champagne, and each other. After that, due to her responsibilities at the clinic on nights there were patients and the ambitious courseload she'd taken on, Tara had been relatively absent from SAMCRO functions and Jax had taken to dropping by nights he could get away- letting himself in and slipping beneath the sheets. Though, she admits, every night is different.

Sometimes, he'd come to her smelling of leather and wind with a hint of exhaust, and she'd know he'd just come from a protection run; those nights, he tended to wrap his arms around her, bury his nose in her hair, and either let a hand drift down her side and underneath the hem of whichever shirt of his she was wearing to bed… or sigh contentedly and press a kiss to her shoulder before falling still in a matter of moments, waiting for her to fall asleep so that he can follow. Fight nights and party nights at the clubhouse, he'd show up with whiskey on his breath and a flush to his cheeks, unable to keep his hands off her- nipping at her neck and cupping her ass, or maybe sliding a hand down her belly until the smile she couldn't seem to keep off her lips in response would prompt him to roll over her and take his fill.

More and more these past couple weeks, however, he's reverted to the habit he'd taken right before she'd moved out of the clubhouse- entering silently, toeing off his shoes, stripping down and careful not to let his belt buckle hit the wood floor with a thunk… and then standing stock-still under the showerhead until Tara wondered to herself what, exactly, he might be trying to drown out. Before, it had been the hostage situation up in Rogue River, the nightmares it had spawned, and his mulish insistence on protecting her from it all. Now, she's almost afraid to wonder what could be worse.

Just then, the piercing whistle of the tea kettle- which had been all but forgotten on the stove behind her- breaks into Tara's thoughts, jarring her into motion towards the stove to turn it off, then the cabinet to extract a large mug and her favorite tea. She watches, lazily, as the tea steeps, sending dark swirls curling into the water, then retrieves her books from the kitchen table and places both mug and book on the small table near the alcove, flicking on the small reading lamp to combat the overall darkness of the place.

Tara checks the wall clock- it's well after dinnertime and she's still heard nothing from Jax, which likely means yet another night in whatever Nevada hellhole they'd landed in… At least she hopes that's the reason for the radio silence. She's long since gotten used to pushing the haunting visions of him from her mind- visions in which he's in danger, on the run, injured or worse- but being used to ignoring it somehow doesn't make any of this any easier.

Shedding her jeans and sweater along the way, Tara drifts over to the dresser, trying not to make too much of the fact that the first pair of sweats she'd laid her hands on are Jax's, as is the faded SAMCRO tee that still smells, however faintly, of him. She tries, too, to pretend that the scent of him doesn't make her feel marginally better, tells herself that she's being silly, worrying about him… _He's fine, Knowles. _Resolving to finish her study guide, make the most of this quiet night in, Tara plucks the throw from the foot of the bed, settles into the plump side chair, and curls into a comfortable position.

Not many people would actually enjoy this, Tara thinks to herself, ruefully, as she turns her notebook to a fresh page. And yet, she does; science- well, knowledge in general, but especially science- has always held her attention in a way many other things hadn't. The prospect of knowing precisely what was happening- underneath her fingertips as she checked an animal's pulse, under her skin as she shivered, beneath her cheek as she felt Jackson's heart thump against his chest- it excites her, makes her itch for more, to see, to learn… to _know_.

Now that she's studying subjects that seem to matter, to move her in the right direction so that _she_ matters, well… the upcoming finals week hardly seems like the nerve-wracking, gut wrenching cram-fest it had always been. Somehow, every bit of knowledge seems essential, now- every piece of information useful and interesting; studying just seems like another step towards a foregone conclusion- following in her mother's footsteps and helping others the best way she knows how.

Sipping her tea and huddled underneath the blanket, Tara quickly immerses herself once again in the world of organic chemistry, filling the blank study guide with neat, black print. Functional groups, polymers, biomolecules… it's just the kind of shit she needs to occupy her mind- straightforward, linear, when Jax is anything but. Addition reactions, substitutions, Avogadro's constant… pages go by along with the minutes, and she's somewhere in the midst of a structural drawing of acetic acid when her mind drifts once more to Jax.

_"You ever think about the future?"_

_Jax propped his head on his arm, blue eyes fixed on hers in the dim light of the sconce above the kitchen sink and lacking a bit of that teasing spark for the first time in hours. Grinning, Tara shifted to her side to trace the familiar line of his hip with a fingertip._

"_Jesus, Teller. Do you know me at all?" she teased, only to be halted almost immediately by his somber, insistent gaze. "Of _course_ I think about the future," she relented after a moment, finally regarding him as seriously as he was her, "You know- all the things that are at stake, all the truly important shit that's coming up these next couple years…" Then, Tara trailed off, recognizing the frustrated shape of his mouth, the way his eyes flitted aside, briefly._

_"Naw, the club, school, all that shit… that's _all _we've been thinkin' about lately. I know what you want when it comes to that, Babe, and you ain't ever been shy about sayin' so."_

_"But…" Tara peered up at him- this man she'd loved probably since before she knew what the word really meant- took in his frustration, "There's a but isn't there?" Damn it, her voice was hesitant, unsure in a way she _never_ was when the topic was something she had control over, and God, how she she hated it in that moment. Hated the way she sounded when he had her second-guessing herself, thought maybe she hated the the bit of relief she felt as Jax leaned in to brush his lips against hers, even more._

_"There_ are _no buts with me, Babe." His eyes darkened further as he drew back, rested a palm on her cheek to keep her close. "Which is my point. We got this plan, a way to stay together through whatever comes… and I got no idea what that means to you." Confused, Tara let her fingers fall still._

_"What it means? Christ, Jax, you mean _everything_ to me; you've practically been my whole life these past few years-"_

_"That's not what I'm getting at, Tara." Jax pursed his lips for a moment- looked away as if gathering his thoughts- and it was silent for a few beats before he continued."I told you a long time ago that since I was five, all I wanted was a Harley and a kutte; for _years_, it was all I could think about- havin' brothers again, guys I could count on to have my back just like you and Ope always did when we were kids. Took me a lot longer to realize I had somethin' else add to that list." Shifting again, he cupped her jaw in both hands, raising up on an elbow to do so. "I want _you_, Babe-"_

_"You_ have_ me, Jackson-" His head, shaking insistently, silenced her before his words did._

_"I want_ all _of you, Tara. I want you to be my Old Lady. My…" Jax swallowed, thickly, and Tara was barely able to register the images that flew to her mind at the term Old Lady- the tattoos, the club functions, Gemma- before he continued with the words that would have her breathless._

"_Christ, Babe, I want you to be my wife someday. Didn't you know?" His wife. Flashes of them- of what they could be, together- whirl in her mind and she manages to focus on his shaking hand, slipping a ring on her finger, a flower in her hair, a family- a real family- around a kitchen table- before they overtake her, leaving her heart full and her mind fuller. All things she'd wanted more than she'd ever really allowed herself to consider, and always with Jax- her Jackson._

_It was then that Tara realized she hadn't said anything, hadn't reacted outside her overactive mind besides the initial sharp intake of breath and the hammering of her heart. He'd noticed it, too, she realizes- his face was now a determined mask as he rolled onto his back and regarded the ceiling fiercely, his eyes focused on the blank expanse of white instead of her._

"_I know we ain't been real specific about where we're goin' with our plans to be together, or what _forever_ really means... but I've always known what it meant to _me_."_

_And he had, Tara realized, slowly. He'd not only reassured her time and again that they'd find a way to stay together, that he'd love her forever, but he'd let slip a few times what the word meant to him.  
_

Doctor Teller_, Jax had corrected, once, when JT had referred to her as Doctor Knowles. _My wife, the doctor_, he'd murmured, lip curling, the day they'd decided to center their plans for after high school around each other, to stay together no matter what. Those and countless other things he'd breathed against her skin since they'd become what they were to each other, she'd noticed at the time... even though she suspected he hadn't- had secretly thrilled to the idea of being Jax's wife and nearly all that came with it._

_But had she ever said so? Ever told him she'd thought about it, too? _Not really_, Tara thought to herself as she watched Jax's jaw tick, watched his deep breaths hollow his chest as he steadfastly stared holes into the ceiling. Christ, he'd only really mentioned it before in a rush of words he probably wasn't even aware of, fully… until now._

"_Jax…" Tara slid closer, resting a palm on his interlaced fingers. His form was stiff, tense, but it only took a slight tug to separate his hands, and another to lift his arm from its position folded against his side. Another subtle shift and she was back in her favorite spot, nestled against his chest, fingers drifting up to link with his right hand. His left tightened around her, but she drew back, forcing him to relax. "Jax, look at me."_

_His eyes- blue as ever but guarded, with a glimmer of something Tara thought she recognized as fear- rested on hers at last, and she released his hand in favor of resting a palm on his jaw, bristly with the stubble he'd taken to wearing recently. It tightened under her hand, so she stretched up to lay a gentle kiss on his lips. Then another. And another, until the unfamiliar glint in his eye had receded and the muscles beneath her palm had slackened. Still, though, he seems to be holding his breath as she settles back into his side, and here she is, as usual, overthinking everything from the words he'd said years ago to her left ring finger, bare as it rests on his chest._

"_Are you sure, Baby? You want… that?" Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, really, but he jerks into motion as though she'd startled him, following her gaze before grabbing her hand and bestowing a hard kiss on the finger in question._

_"More than anything, Babe, believe me. I won't be able to buy you a ring any time soon- not while I'm prospecting and not until I start earning with the club, but-" And suddenly, Tara found herself stretching up to kiss him again, even while smiling so hard her cheeks hurt- allowing herself, for once, to let go, to bask in the fact that the one she loves most wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. So she let him continue, let him go on telling her his plans for their future and folded each of his words into her heart, something to keep for herself, for always._

_"I meant what I said all those times Babe- you and me, it's what I want… always. And I don't give a shit if it's possessive or outdated or what- I want you as my Old Lady, tattoo and all, and I want you as my wife. _That's_ my endgame."_

_"I've been your Old Lady since we were eight, silly." She grinned up at him, then, remembering how eight-year-old Tara had demanded a kiss to make it official, and how cocksure eight-year-old Jackson had surprised them both by planting one on her lips. From his expression, Jax remembered, too, his eyes regaining a bit of the spark behind them as he murmured-_

_"Ain't _all_ I want, though, Woman."_

_"And I want that too, Baby- so much. I think I've wanted it ever since you kissed me in the backyard that day- you and me, forever… as a family."_

"But?"

_Tara sighed. He'd said there were no buts, not for him, but hers remained the same as they'd always been._

"But... _I have so much work ahead of me that I'm only just getting started on, Jax. College and then med school- it's a lot-"_

"_I know that, Tara," he interjected, almost irritably, but Tara continued, shaking her head._

"Do_ you? Nothing compares to prospecting for SAMCRO- the hours, the things they have you do… but I don't know if you realize what medical school is there's the licensing exams, the clinical rotations… and after that the residency, the-" Jax made a frustrated noise and blinked down at her._

_"Christ, Tara, you're acting like all that shit ain't gonna happen either way." She sighed, closing her eyes briefly to try and reconcile her heart- which was currently urging her to tug him from the bed and drag him to his bike, to take off at ninety miles an hour bound for a Vegas chapel and to hell with what everyone else thought… with her rational brain- always sensible, always dependable._

_"You have to trust me, Jax," she murmured, finally, opening her eyes to find his still boring into her. "Think about how much you're gone, how little you're here with me right now- would you really want to spend the first year of the rest of our lives this way?" His eyes shifted, briefly, to the side, a hint of begrudging acknowledgement present for the first time; suddenly, it was as if knowing that he was hearing her, truly- finally- and she couldn't control the rest of what was on the tip of her tongue to say. Christ, it was something she knew no normal girlfriend in her right mind would say, really... but since when had their relationship ever been what you'd call normal?_

"_And when I marry you, well… someday even that won't be enough. I'm gonna want a family- with you- and I just don't know if I can handle being a mother and a resident at the same t-"_

_His lips fused to hers, trapping the rest of the explanation that had seemed to bubble up out of nowhere- whether it had originated in her heart or her head, she was still uncertain. And suddenly, she didn't care whether the thought had been rational or not, didn't care whether Jax was prepared for the trials of med school just yet- all that mattered was that he loved her, she loved him, and the decision they'd just made, together._

_"We can _do_ this, Tara, when the time's right. We can do anything, together. I love you, so much…"_

_"I love you too, Jackson._ Always."

_"Tara…" His hands came up to frame her face, and she couldn't quite help the sigh of contentment that escaped her lips, mingling with the soft breath of her name leaving his._

_"Tara…"_

"Tara!"

Her body jerks to attention, though it takes a few moments longer for her brain to catch up- Jax's hands are framing her face in what she thinks is reality, too- much like he had been in her recollection of their conversation from weeks ago… but when she opens her eyes, he's not lying beside her in the bed but crouched in front of the side chair, his brow knit. He's peering up at her with- she thinks- troubled eyes instead of kissing her as he had been in her strange dream-memory hybrid. It's a definite downgrade from the moment she'd been reliving in her head, though she's relieved the conversation that had preceded it is in the past- and relieved he's here, after a nearly three-day run.

"You okay, Babe?" Tara's heart flutters a bit, despite herself, at the care in Jax's voice. She manages a bleary smile for him- one that doesn't appear on his own lips- though his eyes soften, the lines between his brows smoothing as he leans in to brush his mouth against hers, briefly.

"Okay?" she asks, moments later, after his lips- indescribably soft despite the fact that she knew he'd spent hours on a bike at the mercy of the wind- leave hers; she can't help leaning forward just a bit to follow them, her forehead resting on his.

"You're all passed out on the chair with a full mug of tea," Jax says by way of explanation, and Tara narrows her eyes at him a bit.

"I was _studying_, Jax," she reasons, jostling her knees a bit to set the thick book resting atop them nudging against his belly. A brief glance down, one at his watch, and his eyes are back on hers.

"It's barely nine o'clock, Babe- the party ain't even really started over at the clubhouse."

Ah, yes, the inevitable end-of-run party at the SAMCRO clubhouse- complete with enough booze to kill a horse and enough croweaters to- well, she'd really rather not think about that, if she's being honest with herself.

"What happened?" At this, Jax rubs his nose on hers once more, withdraws and stands, shrugging out of his kutte and tossing it on the kitchen chair Tara had occupied most of the waning hours of the day. Next is the shoulder holster he'd begun wearing lately, still full of the sleek black handgun he'd received from the club for his eighteenth birthday. Tara shudders as it rests on the table with a thunk, causing Jax's eyebrow to raise again; God, he looks worn out- his eyes have that hollowed-out look to them, the shoulders that are usually tossed back in his signature, cocky-ass stance droop wearily… hell, now that she's noticing, even his voice sounds strained.

"Nothin'- saw the guys, but I've_ been _seein' 'em for the last three days. Didn't feel like stayin'." Tara makes a faint sound of acknowledgement as Jax crosses the room towards her again, pulling his hoodie and shirt over his head in one motion to reveal his broad chest, the washboard abs beneath it, and the fine arrow of hair diving into the waistband of his boxers. The tightening in her belly at the sight of him begins to radiate outward as she watches those strong, slender fingers work open his belt, and it's a moment before she realizes he's speaking, again.

"-with me tomorrow night, though, since we got Fresno and Rogue River showin' up. Can you do that?" Jax bends to drop a kiss on her lips and Tara's hands fist the throw blanket in an attempt to refrain from burying them in his hair and holding him to her- she has to put together what he'd said… _something about being with him tomorrow night, other charters in town- _probably some party she's expected to make an appearance at, at least by Gemma.

"Sure, Baby," Tara responds, softly. Jax has a tired smile for her then, mimes another kiss in her direction as he reaches the bed to toe off his still impossibly white sneakers.

"I'm gonna take a shower." _As if that wasn't obvious, _Tara thinks, watching him from her vantage point in the tosses his shirts in the general direction of the hamper in the corner, then shucks both jeans and boxers down his legs in favor of heading towards the bathroom in the nude, leaving both in a crumpled heap atop the sneakers.

Somehow, even exhausted, road-weary and just… off, the sight of him from behind- blonde hair just grazing what Tara figures is his C-7 vertebrae, back muscles taut, ass flexing as he steps over the threshold- does things to her she can't describe. He's beautiful, this man- _her_ man- and Tara finds herself itching to run her fingers over the expanse of smooth skin he'd just uncovered, only to hide it from her as he half-closes the old, wooden door. The heat that had been gathering, low, ever since he'd woken her and dropped his mouth on hers seems to be simmering, now- sluicing into her very veins until she can't sit still for wanting him.

Needing a distraction, something- _anything_\- to keep her from attacking her boyfriend in the bathroom, Tara stretches, sets the textbook and notebook on the side table, and crosses the room to gather Jax's jumble of clothing from the floor. She's about to toss them into the hamper when the bandanna he's taken to keeping in his pocket for long rides peeks out of a pocket. She rubs it between two fingers momentarily before tugging it free and letting the rest of the clothes tumble onto the heap.

It's filthy, much as his jeans had been- caked with dust and grime, and- Tara sucks in a quick breath, holds it for a few frantic heartbeats until she realizes what she's looking at- several splotches of something dark that smells like motor oil. _Not blood, _she tells herself. _Not blood…_ _at least, not this time. _She'd known nothing about the run- nothing about why he'd been held up wherever he'd been- but suddenly, the relief of having him back here with her, unmarred, _whole_, rushes through her... along with the irrepressible urge to look at him, lay eyes on him again to try and calm her racing heart.

The bathroom's already steamed up when Tara enters, although Jax had left the door cracked and flipped on the ancient fan. She can see him there, through the thick pebbled glass, bracing his forearms against the shower wall and letting the jet of water assault the back of his head, which is hanging towards the tub floor. A deluge of water is rushing over the contours of his face, flattening the thick lashes he's squeezed shut, and running in streams off his nose and chin- but he doesn't seem to notice, or care.

He looks older, this way- maybe it's the stubble on his chin or the way he's filled out, broadened, over a year of putting in time at Teller-Winston; more likely, Tara thinks, it's his posture- the way he's just so careworn, stressed… almost defeated. The itch to touch him has, by now, given way to a longing, deep in her chest, to hold him, comfort him- heal him in the way he'd once told her only she could. And in this rare moment where he's raw, exposed, and unable to put on a brave face for her or anyone else, maybe that's exactly when she can.

Tara won't remember making the decision, is barely aware of sliding his over-large sweats down her legs or stepping out of her panties, and her tshirt landing softly on the linoleum doesn't even register. What_ does _is the way he barely starts when she wraps her arms around him and presses her chest to his back, the way the hot water trickling over his shoulders feels against her lips as she presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, the way her arms have barely locked around him before his fingers are encircling her wrist and dragging her palm up to his lips so he can kiss it. Then, he's replacing her hand, folding it inside the other and between his larger ones before falling still, trapping himself in her embrace.

They stand that way for moments that stretch into a minutes, the near-scalding water coursing over them and melding their slick skin until she feels whole, feels like she's a part of him- hopes he feels it too. Then, he's releasing her hands, freeing them to run over the hard planes of his chest, his abs, down to his slender hips and back up, just beginning to revel in the novelty of his sleek, wet, body, ready for her touch. And just like that, the air changes, somehow- still heavy with steam but lightened just the same as Jax turns in her arms to reveal half-lidded eyes and the beginnings of that damn smirk curling his lips.

"Couldn't stay away?" Tara suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, to mention the minutes they'd just spent with her wrapped around him and whatever had brought them there… after all, hadn't the point of it all been to help bring him back to himself? So instead, she lets her hands drift down to his ass, cupping him firmly and pulling him to her, looks up through her lashes to watch the smirk spread and take root until he's _really_back with her for the first time in weeks- her brash, cocky, devil-may-care Jax with the bedroom eyes and the fuck-me-baby smirk. _God,_ she's missed him.

"You seemed like you could use a little company," is all Tara says in return, releasing him in favor of running her nails lightly down his hips to his thighs and back up, tracing the path of the water streaming over him. She doesn't bother to bite back a smirk of her own as his eyes darken and his cock jerks in its resting place against her hip; Jax's hands are in her hair and he's zeroing in on her lips before her next breath, but she steps back- lips curving when his brows raise in surprise. "I'm cold, Baby. You're hogging all the w-"

"Shit, sorry…" Jax is lifting her with strong arms, turning them and plunking her down beneath the jets of water before she can finish her sentence- not that it would have mattered anyway since his mouth is hungrily seeking hers almost before her toes find purchase on the shower floor. His tongue is stroking hers, a big hand rising to cup a breast, his thumb lazily flicking her nipple, when Tara pulls back again, their mouths separating with a popping sound that's audible even with the water rushing over her head.

"I know how you can make it up to me," she breathes, and suddenly, Jax's grin is wicked as those long, strong fingers find their way between them to skim down her belly and tangle in the nest of curls below. One stroke and she's near-gone- _God,_ she's been without him too long- but she catches his wrist all the same, needing to keep things light, keep them from sinking back into the heaviness with which they'd both entered the steamy room. "Not that way, Teller," she teases, slapping his hand away. "Let me show you."

Turning, bending a little further than necessary to retrieve the shampoo and probably enjoying Jax's exhalation of breath as her backside presses against his hardness a little too much, Tara pours a measure of cool liquid into her hand and smiles as his eyes spark with interest.

"You're gonna have to duck a little, Baby, so I can reach that big-ass head of yours." More obediently, she's sure, than he's ever done anything, Jax lowers his head, closing his eyes the instant her fingers tunnel through his hair, sleek already from the water. She lets her nails scrape lazily along his scalp, mapping out the contours of his skull beneath the minty-fragrant suds; he groans, low, when she drags her fingers down his neck, rolling his shoulders and hanging his head ever lower with each stroke.

"Alright, that's enough, unless you're planning to start paying the water bill here," Tara says, cheekily, patting his head. "Switch me so you can rinse."

Reluctantly, Jax rises back to his full height, edges past her to stand under the stream of water once again. Then, his arms are flexing, his chest is rippling, and his stomach is taut as he runs his hands through his hair, and Tara can't help the thought that pops into her mind at the sight of him- as visions go, it doesn't get much better than the sight of a nude Jax Teller with water streaming down his body. _Especially_ when he's standing before her, more than obviously hard, willing, and ready.

Evidently, she's more than a little distracted by all the parts of him that are further south, because he takes her by surprise a moment later with his hands in her hair. Slowly, surely, he begins working the shampoo into a lather, lets his fingers trail along her scalp, her neck, her collarbone... She's almost beginning to let her eyes drift closed when he startles her with a quick smack on the ass.

"That's enough," Jax bites, full of playful sarcasm and throwing her own words back at her before bending at the waist to nip at her lower lip. "Back under the water, Knowles." Tara obliges, closing her eyes at last and letting the pounding spray lull her into a state of bliss.

His hands are on her before the shampoo's all gone, slipping and sliding over her hips, her ass, up her back and over her shoulders before resting, finally on her chest. He's filling his palms with her- detouring, momentarily, to give each nipple a pinch- and she sucks in a breath, has to bite back a groan to flutter her eyes open so she can feign shock instead of losing herself altogether.

"What do you think you're- you're doing?" Tara's grin slips away from her lips when her breath hitches mid-sentence- which happens to be just when Jax slips his fingers between her legs once again, fastidiously avoiding the one place she wants his touch most. Christ, she's practically ready to combust- she's been teasing him, but in the process succeeded in teasing herself as well, to the point that she wants nothing more than to wrap her fingers around his soaking wet hair and pull him down to her lips.

"Cleanin' you up, Darlin'" Jax drawls belatedly, plumbing a callused finger through the sheltered spot beneath her curls; it's only then, as she shivers when he narrowly misses the bud that's now throbbing for his touch, that she notices his hands had been dutifully massaging cucumber-melon body wash into her skin. Choosing to ignore the fact that he'd called her _Darlin'_, his first such slip-up in years, she knocks his hands away and reaches to fill her own with a drizzle of the liquid- hers because she's got no earthly idea where his is at the moment- and she just can't bring herself to care.

Finally, all pretenses of teasing forgotten, Tara's able to take her fill of him- running her hands over his chest and his back, massaging her scent into his shoulders, squeezing the muscular globes of his ass and dragging her nails up his thigh… even dipping at the knee to spread the suds over his slender calves and his feet- for once not encased in those damn white sneakers. It's then that a thought enters her mind and instead of analyzing, instead of weighing her options or worrying or wondering- Tara lets impulse take over.

She sucks a kiss onto the tip of him, another as she works the last of the suds into the soft sacs behind it, still another as she reaches to stroke the rest of him, letting her lips meet her hand again, and again, and again. She slows only when Jax winds his fingers in her hair, chances a glance upwards and finds him staring with a heat that had ratcheted up infinitely compared to moments ago. Suddenly, it's as if all the air has been sucked out of her lungs, somehow- intelligent thought removed from her brain- because the only thing Tara can fix her mouth to say at the moment has to do with the scent of the body wash she'd massaged into him a minute ago.

"Guess you're gonna have to go to bed smelling like me-"

The rest of her words are lost in a gasp as Jax slams his mouth down onto hers, never once letting go of her hair and drawing her up with him until they're both standing under the jet of water. She's wrapped like a vine around him while his soft, hot mouth scatters suckling kisses in all the places the the droplets of the shower can reach, and then he's turning her, almost roughly, towards the near end of the shower, running a hand down one thigh and lifting it until her toes are perched on the side of the tub. He's behind her before she can think- hell, she doesn't _want_ to think, she just wants to feel everything in this moment- his strong arms around her, his cock nudging against her, his lips at her ear.

"In more ways than one, Babe," he fairly growls, sucking her earlobe momentarily into her mouth before continuing, his voice even lower than before- "You ready?"

The smartass quip she'd finally managed to formulate about the water getting cold is lost in the strangled moan that rips free from her throat instead as he bends at the knee and then surges forward, driving into her with enough force that she claws uselessly at the slick tile wall. Over and over again he slams into her, filling his large hands with her breasts, tugging and twisting at each nipple in rhythm with his thrusts; a hand leaves her, briefly, to adjust the water so they're both beneath the spray, and then he's back, whispering in her ear.

"I fuckin' love you, Tara. So much…" Jax's voice trails off into a soft grunt as he kisses his way down her neck, halting only briefly at her response, his lips curving against her neck.

"I love you too, Jackson. Love y- oh God…" And just like that, her own voice is drifting somewhere in the heavy steam around them as the heat that's been coiling somewhere in her belly ever since she'd started this- hell, ever since she'd awoken to find him there, with her again- reaches its breaking point the moment his hand drifts down to stroke her. She's finally shattering under his touch, barely able to hold herself upright as the waves of pleasure break over her- so consumed that she's only dimly aware of the twinge of pain when Jax sinks his teeth lightly into her shoulder as he pulses into her once more and stills with a shuddering sigh.

"Goddamn, Tara…" Jax groans ten minutes later, collapsing onto the bed in a heap, his towel tucked dangerously low on his hips.

"What?" Tara fails at hiding a smile as she plucks another ancient SAMCRO shirt from the drawer- though, admittedly, she didn't try all that hard. She's slipping it over her head and sitting near Jax's hip before he answers, throwing an arm over his eyes for effect.

"All I could think about on the ride back from Nevada was takin' a shower and fallin' into bed with you. Christ, I was half-asleep already when I walked in the goddamn door."

"Well, I'm sorry, Baby, next time I'll just let you take a cold showe-" Rolling from his position on the bed, Jax pulls her down with him, half-lying on top of her and pressing three smacking kisses to her face before hovering, grinning, over her.

"Don't you dare, Knowles…" Chuckling, he drops another kiss on her nose before retreating a bit, his eyes twinkling. "Way I see it, this was a _great_ idea; saved ya water, time… hell, we may never shower alone again."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the help," Tara returns, playing her fingers lightly in the soft hair beneath Jax's chin, inserting a nail into the familiar dent beside his slowly deepening smirk.

"I'm all about the service, Babe." Tara snorts softly, but finds herself unable to resist tucking a thumb under his chin to bring his lips to hers once again.

It isn't until they're settled under the covers some minutes later, his arms wrapped securely around her, that Jax releases a controlled sigh.

"This party, tomorrow night?" He's on his back in the dark, eyes trained on the ceiling; his voice is sobered significantly from their conversation earlier but steady, some of the weight he'd been carrying when he'd entered her apartment seemingly lifted.

"Yeah?"

"We got the leadership from a couple other charters comin' in- finishin' up that business from Rogue River… the, ah-" he clears his throat, awkwardly. "The shit that had me all fucked up when Maureen died. Club's gonna handle it, but I… I need you, Tara."

"How can I help you, Baby?" Tara whispers, unsure she wants to know the answer. Jax doesn't respond right away, doesn't turn to meet her eyes, just brings her palm to his lips before wrapping it tighter in his hand.

"Just be there?" His voice is clear in the darkness, none of the weariness or anguish he'd shown previously at the mention of the incident apparent, and Tara realizes that, for the first time, he's telling her what he needs before he's a goddamn heap of misery… and she's simultaneously proud of him and scared shitless at what he's not telling her.__  
  
"Of course I'm here for you, Jax." She tries to infuse both comfort and confidence into her voice- isn't sure how successful she was until he shifts onto his side and draws her closer.

"I'm lucky to have you, Babe… so goddamn lucky... " he whispers against her temple, his breath warm on her skin as his breathing slows, drifting off before her for the first time in weeks.

* * *

"The hell's takin' Opie so long today?"

Kozik's voice is irritable as he flings himself down on the weatherbeaten picnic table outside Stockton's very own SanJoa County Jail. The day is pleasant, by contrast- the sun's high in the sky and Jax has been contemplating removing the thick hoodie he's wearing under his kutte; Kozik's sigh, however, is a pretty good sign the other man doesn't give a shit how nice the weather is.

"Dunno," Jax responds, carefully- eyeing Kozik warily. Christ, the last thing he needs is for Koz to get moody on him, too. Besides the fact that Tara's alternately been buried in her books, helping out at the clinic, or completely fuckin' exhausted when she's not jumping his bones every chance she gets, Ope's been off-kilter lately, as well.

Everyone in SAMCRO knows Opie's propensity for silent brooding when shit goes sideways- Christ, Jax would be tempted to blame genetics since Piney's ass is as about as surly as they come… except Piney tends to just grouse and bitch and piss and moan until the target of his wrath gives in and does what he wanted in the first place. Ope though… While the guy's never been shy about telling Jax what he thinks- especially when he thinks he's right- that only applies when it comes to someone else's problems. So, while both Tara and Jax have come to appreciate Opie's role as a sort of sounding board for their rare relationship issues, Ope tends to shut down completely when he's got his own shit to struggle with.

He gets it, Jax supposes, pulling out yet another cigarette and lighting it, ignoring Kozik's stare. Ope's mom's been MIA for a few years now, and God knows Piney isn't anyone's first choice for pearls of fatherly wisdom. Still, he's been letting this shit with Otto eat him up, and Jax knows as well as anyone that brooding over shit that's out of your control is the world's quickest route to nowhere.

"Doc- uh, Tara- let you smoke in the apartment?" Kozik's voice is wistful, now, and Jax snorts a bit at the look on his face- like that of someone missing a long-lost friend. He leans closer, holds the cigarette out towards Kozik, then retreats to shoot him a wry grin as he waves him off. "Nah, man- thanks. Guy in rehab told me to stay away from my triggers, shit that I associated with that part of my life. I'd just gotten in the habit of shootin' up and then _lightin' _up, so I figured it was best to just cut the smokes out altogether. S'worked so far, but sometimes I miss the taste of smoke almost as much as I miss the needle, y'know?"

Jax nods, though he _doesn't _know- doesn't know what it's like to wake up with his body trying to eat itself from within, doesn't know the endless hunger for chemical solace Kozik had described once… hopes he _never_ knows what it's like to miss the most important thing in his life so much that he's physically ill from its absence. He pushes away the niggling thought he'd had more than once when listening to Koz talk about his addiction issues- that Tara's his one true addiction, and he'd be in worse shape than any withdrawing addict he'd ever known if she ever left him- and answers the question.

"Nah, wouldn't let me smoke in the clubhouse apartment, either." He grins as Kozik raises a skeptical eyebrow. "She says cigarette smoke is hell to get out of her clothes, and she doesn't like going to work and school reeking of it. Doesn't have a problem with weed, though." He shrugs, takes a final drag of the cigarette and stubs it out on the bottom of his shoe before flicking it away.

"She's got you pretty deep in that bowl of pussy-whip, huh?" Jax can only chuckle and flash Kozik a middle finger in return.

"Eh, I only really smoke when I ain't got nothin' else to do; tell ya the truth, I don't miss it when I ain't on a run." It's true, he realizes, even as the words leave his mouth. He's pretty sure Tara wouldn't have a problem with him stepping outside to smoke at either place, knows for a fact she doesn't have a problem curling up next to him while he's got a cigarette in his hand at the clubhouse or outside… but he finds more and more that anything that would take him away from her any more than he has to be already or occupy a hand he could otherwise have touching her, somewhere, has gone by the wayside. And he can't really bring himself to give a shit.

"Speakin' of pussy whip," Jax continues, "how's things goin' with _your_ Doc?" Koz makes an amused sound with his mouth and leans back against the picnic table, shaking his head.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know…"

"Feel like I _do_ know already, man- seems like every time we ain't got shit goin' on with the club, I'm over at Tara's and you're stoppin' by the clinic to pick her up." The cryptic look on Koz's face and the silence that follows makes Jax grin and shake his own head. Then-

"Been takin' things slow, tryin' to do it right- she's more than all those croweaters, ya know? Got a career- got things goin' for her that I ain't never dreamed of- and she deserves to be treated that way." Jax nods- it's exactly the way he feels about Tara, and suddenly he wonders if Kozik, too, is sometimes gripped with fear that she'll realize she could do better and leave him. "Been mostly takin' her out on the bike, gone to dinner a few times, shit like that. I guess I'm sorta waitin' for this shit with the club to die down before I bring her around- if I _ever_ bring her around." Kozik's voice is firm, brooking no further questions, and Jax lets it lie for the time being, checking his watch for what seems like the hundredth time.

"You think Ope got in to see Otto?" he asks, finally, fixing his eyes on the smoked glass doors that make up the visitor's entrance to the jail. He knows he'd been up here with Gemma a few times as a kid- when JT had spent time inside- but the one visit he truly remembers was the first; the strangeness of seeing his father behind security glass, the buzzing every time a door opened, JT's voice- tinny through the receiver and sounding a hundred miles away even though he was right there in front of him, the way Tommy had turned his face away and hidden in Gemma's chest, the twinge of pain in JT's eyes… Soon after, JT had been approved for contact visits, but somehow that first one behind the glass had always stuck with Jax.

"Christ, I hope so," Kozik sighs, breaking into Jax's thoughts. "Somethin's gotta give, snap Ope out of his bullshit." Automatically, Jax defends his friend, his only true brother until they patch in… but his retort lacks bite.

"Ain't bullshit, man- Ope's just doin' what any of us would do for our sponsors. It's fuckin' with him that Otto won't see him, is all." Even as the words leave his mouth, though, Jax is swamped with the knowledge that if it were Chibs in lockup, the club wouldn't be constantly on edge about him losing his shit and blowing his shot at getting out. There wouldn't be that same worry about him making some hair-brained attempt to speed along the process so he could get back to his girl. Neither would Bobby, who'd been Kozik's sponsor, or JT, or Piney…

In all honesty, Otto being the one inside is about the shittiest luck SAMCRO could have had, as far as Jax is concerned; except for maybe Tig, Jax can't think of another member who's as volatile as Otto… and the guy's definitely got a lot to lose, as devoted as he is to Luann. The DA and the judge fucking with him has just made matters worse, and while he's finally been allowed visitation, the only person he's been willing to see is Luann. Meanwhile, Ope's been showing up like clockwork every other Saturday- opposite Luann's schedule- in an attempt to reassure Otto that the club's got his back.

Even once he'd finally been allowed visitation, most of the club had found themselves unable to visit- mostly due to their status as convicted felons or their prominent affiliation with SAMCRO. Opie, Jax and Kozik, however, _had _been approved- not that it mattered in the slightest because Otto steadfastly refused to see any of them. So, they'd taken to riding out to Stockton on alternating Saturdays to keep Ope company because he refused to give up, convinced that he could make a difference if only Otto would agree to see him. Jax has to admire his loyalty- one of Ope's best qualities- but when coupled with his sheer stubbornness and his tendency towards moody, stoic silence when shit was bothering him, well… the guy had been tough to deal with ever since he'd seized on the idea of helping Otto.

Kozik sighs again, pushing the breath out between pursed lips, then runs a hand over short, spiky hair before pushing off the picnic table.

"Guess I'll go try Angela again," he mutters, angling his head toward the payphone near the entrance of the jail. "She was just gettin' out of surgery last time I called- the receptionist said to try back in a few minutes." He grins at Jax, then, "_Your_ girl's probably in there with her, too." They share a smile, both imagining the veterinarian and the eager student assistant- their women, whether Kozik's ready to admit it or not- together in the operating room... meanwhile, they're together outside the fuckin' county jail.

"Aw shit, that's right, that mother dog's gettin' fixed today- how long you think Tig's been hauntin' the place, waitin' for news?" Jax chuckles as Kozik raises his eyes to the sky in exasperation.

"Man, he's been makin' noise about adoptin' her since the day he saw her, and this last thing gettin' done before she's finally ready to go is just gonna make things worse," Koz says, shaking his head. "Tell the truth, though, Missy's the only thing he's seemed to give a shit about since I met him, aside from his girls, and he don't even get to see them very often. Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, either- havin' a dog around the house- but with the landlady fixin' things up like she has, I got serious doubts about her okaying it." Jax merely nods, mystified as everyone else at the way Tig can turn into an actual fuckin' human being when he's spending time with a goddamn dog.

"Do yourself a favor, bro- help Tiggy make this happen, put in a good word with the Doc or whatever you gotta do. It's worth it if you get to avoid the shitheap this whole thing's gonna turn into if some yuppie fuck adopts her instead." The look that crosses Kozik's face- one of alarm, quickly followed by dread- is enough to convince Jax that this, at least, hadn't been a scenario he'd considered until now. Still, Kozik stands, extracts a stick of gum from his kutte pocket, and turns to head towards the payphone.

"Hey, Koz?" Halting, Kozik raises his head, waiting. "When you talk to your girl, can you have her let Tara know we'll be a little late gettin' back?"

Kozik's been back from his phone call a good twenty minutes when Opie's large frame fills the black metal doorway of the jail.

"Oh shit, there he is," Koz grits out between his teeth. "Thank fucking God."

Opie lumbers towards them, his face- as is typical for him- impassive, and Jax thinks for about the thousandth time in his life that the guy would make a hell of a poker player. Both Jax and Kozik rise to meet him, and wind up falling into step behind him as he passes without a word, making their way to the cramped parking lot that services the jail. He'd shaken his head no the other times they'd been down here without any contact with Otto, and Kozik and Jax exchange glances as Ope leads the way, silently. They're almost to the back of the lot, where their bikes wait in a glistening row of chrome and black, when Jax just can't take it anymore.

"So what the fuck happened, Bro?" Jax practically spits, impatiently. "Did you get to see Otto or-'

"Yup." Ope mutters, quietly, reaching to unhook his helmet from the handlebar. After a beat, when it's clear he's not going to freely offer any more information, Kozik takes his turn.

"Well what did he say, man? More importantly, what did _you _say?" Opie shrugs, swinging his leg over his bike with a heavy sigh.

"He was pissed, mostly- I guess he'd been refusin' my visits because he thought it was bullshit the club sent a prospect to deal with him. Today, he held out for nearly an hour before the guard told him if he refused one more visitor, he'd be barred from his contact visits that start next week." Opie scoffs, adjusting the helmet on his head. "I guess he figured dealin' with me was better than missin' out on the chance to see Luann."

"But didn't Rosen tell him the three of us were the only ones approved? You'd think-"

"The guy's hangin' on by a thread, Jax- he said he don't trust anyone not wearin' a Reaper, and since JT or Piney ain't been to see him, he's not feelin' real charitable towards even the club right now. Only reason he even listened to what _I_ had to say was because of some shit Luann said last visit." Kozik leaned against his own bike.

"Which was…" Ope shrugs again, shaking his head.

"Wouldn't say- said that was between him and his Old Lady, that she was helpin' him work somethin' on the outside. I tried to pass on JT's message- that shit about the club workin' on the DA, the proof he'd been jumped- but he said he wanted it in writing if it couldn't come from JT's mouth. Said to come back in two weeks with official word from JT or Piney, or not at all."

_Christ. _It's almost as bad as the rest of SAMCRO had feared; Otto wouldn't rat, Jax is almost sure of that- and even if he wanted to, the club is slowly moving towards legitimate business- but it's clear he's as unpredictable as the caged animal lockup is treating him as.

"They're not gonna let you bring in some letter, _especially _not from the President of the Mother Charter," Kozik supplies, wearily. "And if Otto wanted to reach out by phone, he would have by now."

"He ain't thinkin' right," Opie responds, his voice grim. "He was completely cut off for months- who _knows _what the fuck they told him the reason was- but this all became sort of a test for him, I think. Now that he's finally got visitation, he wants SAMCRO to prove we're behind him… _and we gotta_." Opie narrows his eyes, pins Jax with a scrutinizing gaze. "Tell your old man he better come up with somethin' or we lose Otto, one way or another."

Opie's firing up his Softail before either of them can respond, letting off the clutch and hitting the throttle, leaving Jax and Kozik in his exhaust.

* * *

The night is nearly moonless with only a thin sliver of white hanging in the sky above the clubhouse as Jax walks the Dyna into its spot at the back of the parking lot. In contrast, the clubhouse itself is lit from within, the music from the jukebox already audible even though the party hasn't really started, yet. It _feels_ different, somehow, arriving at a SAMCRO party with Tara on his arm, having showered and dressed elsewhere after living in the apartment so long; actually, it almost reminds him of movies they'd watched together- the lame-ass chick movies he'd never admit to any of the guys- like they're all dressed up and walking towards a high school dance or some shit.

Smiling a bit, Jax slips his arm around Tara as they walk, squeezing her waist as she leans her head on his shoulder. The closer they get, the more can't help but succumb to this almost nostalgic feeling he's getting, here in the empty parking lot... especially when the song changes from southern rock to that Bon Jovi song all the girls had loved freshman year- the one with the heavy 4-4 beat and something about some blonde giving Jon nightmares. He'd never actually been to prom- he'd drawn his line in the sand at actually entering Charming High School on a weekend night and Tara hadn't bothered to mention it- but he half expects some teacher to open the door to take his ticket. finds himself slowing his footsteps towards the door, not ready to let go of whatever's happening here outside the confines of the clubhouse. Mere steps from the door, Jax is seriously contemplating dragging Tara off to some corner of the lot that's darker than the rest and pressing her against a wall… which is a memory he actually _does_ possess from high school.

"Oh good, you're here. Listen, I need you to help Ope…" And just like that, the moment is gone- the neon glow of the Teller-Winston sign is losing its hazy lustre, someone's overridden the jukebox and it's now playing the opening chords of his least favorite Black Crowes song- and there's not teacher at the entrance to the clubhouse, just a parent chaperone that would have been Principal Morgan's worst nightmare… his mother.

"Jackson!" Gemma's standing there, silhouetted by the light emanating from the clubhouse door, hands on her hips- a position he's seen her assume a thousand times before. She's impatient with him, now, eager to get him started on his prospect bitch work, and not for the first time, Jax wonders who's going to give him more of a hassle when it's time to talk about transfers- Ope, Piney and the club, or his mother. He sighs, letting his arm slip from Tara's waist to the small of her back, a brief mental image of the crow he's constantly imagining there improving his mood momentarily.

"Yeah, sorry, Ma. Help Ope with what?"

"Restocking the bar- two a' you took off so fast after you all got back last night that nobody filled up the fridge. C'mon, there's cases of beer out the back door." When neither Jax nor Tara make a move away from each other, Gemma rolls her eyes and beckons Tara to follow her. "C'mon, Tara, Donna's already here, waitin' for ya…" Her voice fades a bit as Tara takes a step forward, and she leans in to examine her more closely. "You okay, sweetheart? You look exhausted."

"Yeah, _thanks_, Gem," Tara retorts, snarkily, but remains unmoving under Gemma's scrutiny. "You know, they say telling someone they look tired is just a polite way of telling them they look like shit." Gemma snorts, tossing an arm around Tara's shoulders and leading her into the clubhouse.

"Yeah, well, since when have I ever been accused of bein' _polite_?" Then, they're both laughing, and Gemma drops a quick kiss on Tara's cheek before nodding towards the back. "JT said you got some mail the other day- some shit from the college that came to the garage's address. He put it in the apartment for ya. I'm assuming you two are stayin' here tonight?" When Tara doesn't answer, Gemma's looking back over her shoulder, giving Jax a look that's indecipherable until he nods his affirmation.

"Yeah, Ma. Figured it was best, it's gonna be a late one."

"Alright. Well, get movin' and go find Ope. You'll want to give those beers a chance to cool before the leadership gets outta their meeting."

Jax finds Opie just where Gemma had suggested he'd be- out the back door of the kitchen near a stack of Bud cases, most of the way through a slender joint.

"Hey…" Christ, he doesn't know what else to say, really- not after their conversation earlier today, the way Ope had let him in so briefly, and then shut him down. For his part, though, Opie just raises his head in acknowledgement and pinches the joint between thumb and forefinger, offering it to Jax as he exhales, smoke curling around his beard in the darkness.

"Hey."

Jax takes a hit, and they lean against the block wall of the rear of the clubhouse, surrounded by a haze of smoke and un-asked questions. It's a long minute before either speaks- Opie scratching his beard in silence and waving off the joint -so Jax takes another drag, letting the pleasantly numbing qualities of the weed sink in.

"Sorry about today," Ope mutters, finally.

Jax flicks away the roach and shoves his hands in his pockets before shrugging his shoulders, still unsure what to say.

"It's a'ight. I know this shit with Otto's got you spun out-"

"It ain't just Otto, man. It-" Ope's jaw tightens and he averts his gaze, the tension radiating off him in waves that seem to work their way through Jax's chest until he, too, is breathing shallow, the short lived effects of the weed ebbing away with each breath. The silence grows between them, curling dark fingers around the edges of Jax's lungs until he has to break it, has to say something before Ope takes off on him again.

"Cameron Hayes, Rogue River, Maureen and Keith- it'll all be over this time tomorrow, man." He tries to sound reassuring, which is fuckin' difficult when he's feeling anything but. Opie just snorts, looking off into the blackness, a wry smile curling his lips.

"That shit was messed up, Jax- but that's _your _shit. I kept out of my own head about it because I had to, you know?"

"Otto… you keep out of your own head about that?" Ope shoots him a glare.

"The guy's my _sponsor_, Jax, I _owe_ it to him to ask the club to make this right, help ease his mind while he's stuck inside. Just like your old man thinks he owes it to Fresno and Rogue River to deal with Cameron. Just like you think you got to make things right for those little girls up in Oregon and for Mo, Keith and Trinity." A protest bubbles up in Jax's chest, but Opie cuts him off, pushing off the wall to spread his hands wide. "I get it, man, I do. That's why I ain't been givin' you shit about it, just warned you to talk to Tara before you shut her out completely. S'why I'm here for _you_, for the _club_\- tonight, tomorrow. Whenever."

He's wrapping Opie in a bear hug almost before he realizes it, clapping him on the back in that way Sons always do in an attempt to make hugs just a bit more bad-ass.

"Thanks, brother. And I got your back on this Otto thing- you need me to talk to JT or whatever, you got it." Jax releases him, barely has time to make note of the distance in his eyes before he's nodding at the door to the kitchen.

"We gotta get this beer coolin' before the higher ups are done with their meeting. They'll be wantin' to crack one before JT calls Church to fill the rest of us in."

"Yeah, well, according to JT, Church should go quick. Then everyone can blow off some steam before we take care of business tomorrow."

"Yuuuuup," comes Opie's response. "C'mon, let's get this done, then we can try to catch a minute with the girls before Gemma finds more shit for us to do." Jax can't help his smile as he hoists a case of bottles off the stack.

"I heard_ that,_ brother."

A half hour later, the beer's in the fridge, the tables are filling up with Sons, the old ladies and croweaters alike are waiting in the wings, and the Presidents and Vice Presidents have exited the chapel. Jax had found himself unable to sneak in his minute or two with Tara- partially because Gemma had tasked him to fill ice chests and set out backups of pretty much every variety of whiskey behind the bar, and partially because he hadn't been able to locate Tara even between bullshit barback jobs.

Jax cracks a few beers, pours a glass of whiskey for his father, a shot of tequila for Piney- his eyes scanning the room until he finally catches a glimpse of Tara near the pool table; her arm's slung over Donna's shoulders, lips curling at something Chibs is saying that evidently needs to be punctuated by animated gestures with the beer bottle he's holding. As usual, he can't resist a smile at the sight of her sitting there amongst his future brothers- a swan in the midst of crows if he's ever seen one, the graceful lines of her cheekbones and her neck standing out in stark, creamy white against all that black.

From a quick survey of the clubhouse, everyone seems to have a drink, a girl, or- in a few cases- both, and Jax's hopes of whisking Tara off to the apartment or somewhere to steal a moment alone are almost renewed… when the Rogue River VP- a man whose name Jax can't recall, currently reclined on the leather sofa- raises his empty glass.

"Ay, Prospect! Can I trouble ya for a refill?" Jax grits his teeth, but snags the bottle of Jack and sends the guy a tight smile as he makes his way over- sends his girl a wink and a genuine smile on his way by- and refills the glass just as a tanned, toned blonde settles herself in the VP's lap. The bottle, he rests on the edge of the pool table in favor of snaking his arm around Tara's waist, and she releases Donna to brush her fingers along his chin, bringing his lips to meet hers, all too briefly. He's bringing his own hand up to keep hers in place as the conversation continues around them, but he's barely aware of what's being said, preferring to focus, instead, on continuing to tease her, tempt her into disappearing with him into the back- if only for a few moments.

"Heard the Old Lady bought herself a new cage," Bobby's saying, somewhere in the background, as Jax's lips find the corner of Tara's mouth, then begin to make their way up her jawbone.

"Naw, just finished restorin' that old Mustang she had," the VP replies just as Jax reaches Tara's ear.

"Let's go back to the apartment, Babe," Jax whispers, smirking against her ear as she shivers- that reaction in her sending his cock twitching like usual.

"Got the engine rebuilt, all the seats finished out, and put a new coat of paint on the sucker. Took me a good six months worth of work on the weekends to get her runnin'... guess now I need a new hobby."

"Looks like you already_ got _one," Bobby chuckles, which is followed quickly by the laughter of the others.

"Yeah, well… Run Rules, Elvis- what happens on a run, stays on a run, right boys?" Jax surfaces from Tara just in time to catch a glimpse of the blonde running her nails through the VP's hair, guiding his head towards her chest as Bobby roars with laughter. He's still focused on how to get Tara to the back, how to make this happen before he's unable to move without every Son in the room noticing the rapid tightening in his jeans, when she's gone, edging past him and mumbling something about having to pee.

He _knew _his girl was a genius. Quickly shoving the half-bottle of Jack at the VP, Jax backs away, ignoring the croweater and plastering an easy grin on his face.

"Keep that for a minute. I gotta go take a leak," he blurts, by way of explanation, and then stalks down the back hallway, hot on Tara's heels. He knows they don't have much time- he'll probably barely have time to fill his hands with her ass before JT calls church- but some part of him, way in the dark, daring recesses of his mind, is wondering if maybe he can talk her into a quickie, a short, hot fuck- maybe against the wall. All he's got to do is-

Jax stops short as he rounds the corner into the apartment and sees Tara sitting on the bed- and not grinning saucily as he'd hoped. Instead, he takes in her face, flushed crimson with... _something_; wait- _anger_, he decides, as he notes the way her small hands are clenched into fists at her sides, catching threads of the old blanket someone had tossed onto the bed since the last time he'd been in here.

"Christ, Tara, what's wrong?" he asks, half-breathless as he drops onto the bed at her hip.

"What's _wrong_?" she repeats, her voice deadly-quiet. When he doesn't- _can't_\- respond, she shakes her head, the chuckle that emanates from her throat humorless. "_Run Rules_, Jax." Dumbfounded, he shakes his head slowly, trying to process what she's just said. Why's she talking about Run Rules?

"Babe-"

"That man in there… the VP. He's got someone at home, someone he calls his Old Lady. And nobody seems to give a shit- not your _brothers_, not that… _croweater_, and most certainly not _him._"

"Tara, I-"

"And not only does nobody give a shit- they're all on board with it, like it's expected or something. Hell, there's a goddamn _rule_ about it, Jax."

Jax's shoulders slump and he doesn't realize he's pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger until almost after he's doing it. She's fucking pissed- there's no way she'll listen to anything he has to say… not _now_, not after the display she's referring to that he'd barely even noticed in the moment, the one that's currently making him cringe, internally. For her part, Tara's clutching her upper arms with her hands as if she's suddenly cold, fixes him with a glare so icy that Jax has to resist a shiver, himself.

"You know it would kill me if I found out you were sleeping with other women." Jax wants to protest, wants to get indignant… but then a small glimmer of hurt surfaces in her eyes, hurt that he hadn't inflicted on her- and never will- but it's there just the same. And all he can say in response is-

"_What?_" He's unable, in the moment, to keep the confusion out of his voice. She sends him a deadpan look, as if she can't believe he'd try to deny it, now, but the disbelief that she'd even suspect him of doing that to her has him shaking his head. "I haven't been with anyone else, Tara. _Ever. _How could you think I'd do that to you?"

"Look at your _club_, Baby. Look at how they treat women-"

"Don't-"

"How can they think that's okay? How can _you_?" Her lip's trembling, now, though her voice is as strong as it's ever been- and Jax sighs, gathering her against his chest, surprised when she doesn't fight him.

"Tara, that's not me, it's not _us._ I wouldn't do that to you, I promise." He's kissing her temple, stroking her hair- wanting, desperately, for her to believe him and believe in them, to feel his emotions just as easily as he knows she's hearing his words. Jax pulls back, frames her face with his hands so he can look into her eyes as he reminds her how much she means to him.

"You remember what I told you that night in your apartment- what I want for my future?" Wordlessly, she nods, liquid green eyes never leaving his. "I wouldn't do that to you because I want you as my wife, and that hasn't changed; that'll _never_ change, not if a dozen charters make up some bullshit rule about what some old assholes can do. Not if a hundred croweaters asked me to break our rules-" he gestures between the two of them "-for them. Not in a million years, Tara." She's still, quiet- seems to be absorbing his words until Jax realizes, suddenly, that she hasn't said anything for going on a couple minutes- the small kernel of fear that had lodged itself into his heart the moment he'd found her on the bed sprouting tendrils that threaten to consume him if he doesn't ask.

"What about you, Babe? Do _you_ still want that?" Almost instantly, Tara nods against his forehead, jarring loose a single tear from her full lower lashes. Jax closes his eyes briefly in relief, wipes the tear away with a thumb and leans in to gently press his lips to hers.

"I love you, Jax," Tara says in a rush, "and I _want_ you- all of you that you'll give me, someday. Just-" she retreats, strokes his cheek with a soft hand before smiling, shakily. "Just don't forget, okay?"

"_Never._" It's all he can respond, and God, he hopes it's enough.

'I should get back out there- I think Donna'll kill me if I leave her out there any longer with Gemma, Precious, and the croweaters." She's blinking, slowly, trying to compose herself, and Jax chuckles, relieved she's smiling- even if it is likely pasted on for his benefit, since it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Yeah, well, maybe one of these days, Koz will bring the Doc around."

"Maybe..." Tara eases off the bed and is halfway to the door before she turns, an eyebrow raised. "You coming?"

"In a sec- see, I actually do have to piss. Unlike some people." He shoots her a smirk; she gives him the finger, rolls her eyes, but the slight smile that graces her lips is genuine this time, and Jax can't help feeling a little better- it's a start.

Jax is finishing up his business in the apartment bathroom, his mind still on the conversation they'd just had- _maybe he'll get her a necklace or something, prove he's serious about this and give her some tangible piece of the promise he's willing to make to her… shit, promise rings seem cheesy, plus she's already wearing his feather ring and she isn't the type to wear a ton of jewelry. Hell, he'd probably had this in mind when he'd given her that ring, had had a brief flash of other rings he'd be giving her throughout their lives as he'd slipped it on her finger… But she wears the locket with her mother's photo in it religiously, even more so than the ring…_ And then, something about the trash can catches his eye.

It isn't the envelopes with _Charming Community College_ and _The California State University_ printed across the fronts- though those give him pause. What has him breathless- frozen in place, really- is the oblong, pink and white device resting atop them, its printed words and symbols seeming to flash in his vision-

_Pregnant: II  
Not Pregnant: I_

What has him lightheaded- has the silence roaring between his ears and both hands fumbling before him so he can brace himself against the wall- is the symbol surrounded by the little window, the image that's now seemingly burnt into his retinas to the point that he doesn't know if it'll _ever_ fade-

_Two lines._


	16. Ch 16

****I own nothing you recognize****

_Two lines._

Before tonight, before…_ this_, the symbol would have been meaningless to Jax; just a couple blurry marks- miniscule in comparison, by size, to the other shit he's dealt with today alone- unimportant, for now, to pretty much everyone outside this room. But the knowledge that those two little lines can change everything- for him, for Tara... for _them_, well… This is fucking huge.

Dizzy, momentarily- like he's got half a bottle of Jack along with the bud flowing through his veins- Jax crouches, rock back on his heels, presses his palms together and tries, desperately, to make sense of the literal black hole his mind has become in a short few seconds. It's as if every thought he's ever had, every fear he's ever known is suddenly rushing back to him, flooding inward before swirling into some abyss that's opened up wide inside him the moment the fear hit him in the gut.

_Tara's pregnant_, some corner of Jax's mind offers, matter-of-factly- which contrasts sharply with the absolute hollowed-out freefall the rest of him is in. _Could be Donna_, some other voice manages to point out, though the edges of the momentary relief that brings him are singed by the twin realizations that he's never once known Donna to enter the apartment, and that the two envelopes that are in the trash beneath the test are obviously Tara's. Wildly, his mind rushes to reassure him that Tara's been on some sort of birth control for the majority of their relationship- even as he recalls old-ass Mr. Morton from health class cautioning them that no method of birth control is one hundred percent effective.

_Jesus Christ, is it Tara or Donna? _some aggravated, third voice pleads with the others. The two names seem to swirl together in his mind, the waves of panic ebbing and flowing as if they're organic, liquid; receding for a moment as he imagines Donna staring at a positive pregnancy test, tinted with guilt when he realizes that that Ope would now be in his shoes... And then panic floods him once again even before he can manage to fully grasp what it would really mean for Tara- her dreams, her career- if it's hers._ You gotta quit losin' your shit, Bro- if this is real, you're gonna be a father… which means you gotta get up off the bathroom floor and be a fuckin' man._

Unsure which part of him had come to that last conclusion, Jax doesn't find himself willing- or able- to argue with it. He pushes out a long, slow, breath, and rises, hesitantly- pointedly avoiding catching a glimpse of the trash can and its contents- but finds he still needs to brace himself on the sink to stay steadily upright. Wearily, he studies his reflection and the last time he'd done so in this very clubhouse comes to mind almost instantly.

Then, he'd been sixteen and though he'd looked the part and had even been able to pass as an adult, he'd had his doubts about whether he'd actually be able to live up to what was expected of him as a SAMCRO legacy, especially as John Teller's son. Now, though… the Jax Teller staring back at him is unmistakably, solidly, a man and not a boy- from the scruff on his face that's filling in nicely to almost-goatee status, to the kutte hanging from his shoulders.

So far, Jax Teller the Prospect has struggled, at times- with the chaos brought his way by SAMCRO, especially with the ramifications that chaos could have on the girl he loves; he's struggled to find an outlet, a way of justifying the means with an end that, as a prospect, he usually doesn't even have the privilege of knowing. But the Real Jax Teller is also a man that knows what he wants out of life- his bike, his club, and his girl- and he knows he's the luckiest motherfucker on earth that Tara wants him, too.

_"And when I marry you, well… someday, even that won't be enough,"_ she'd murmured one night after he'd been unable to stop himself from finally putting words to the future he'd been having visions of for years- his future with her. And although he'd been wary- annoyed, even- at her hesitation earlier that same night, what she'd said next had filled him so full of relief and joy he hadn't bothered to let her finish. He also hadn't thought twice at the time about what would happen if if all happened too soon,- he'd just been so fucking glad they were on the same page.

Jax rakes a shaking hand through his hair, noting the glint of something he can only recognize as sheer fucking terror in the eyes of the guy in the mirror, immediately followed by the beginnings of shame curling in his gut. He's ready to marry her- _been_ ready, really- and a family with the only girl he's ever loved is something that's always been in the cards. If he's being honest with himself, a good bit of the stifling panic that's steadily rising in his throat probably has to do with his utter uncertainty about just what Tara's thinking about all of this.

She'd been crystal clear regarding her plans- especially where they involve him: finish school- though med school might be pushing it as far as he's concerned, since that shit's like years away and he doesn't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary to make her truly his- then marry him and become a doctor. His own had been simpler by far: really, he just wants her with him, wants to sit at the Reaper table with his father and his brothers.

But, by all accounts, he's nineteen, John Teller's son, and a fucking man. _Remember what Gemma always says_, that first, most logical part of him urges- _men take care of business. _Christ, he'd just never really thought_ business_ would include a baby at nineteen.

"Hey, Jax?"

Jax jumps, the voice floating towards him from just inside the apartment door rescuing him, thankfully, from the debate he'd been having with himself, slowing both the surge of resolve in his chest that had had him moments away from stalking out into the crowded clubhouse to find Tara… and the tendrils of self-doubt that had begun to snake their way around his heart.

"Jax, you in there?" It's Ope, sounding casual and unmistakably much closer to the bathroom door than he had a moment before. Christ, it's the one person he's got no desire to see right now- the one who's got almost as much stake in this as he does; in his current state over the past few minutes, Jax had momentarily forgotten there's a chance Ope's the one that about to have the rug yanked from underneath him- or maybe he already has. Like they had been practically their whole lives, he and his best friend are in the same boat whether Ope knows it or not- it's just that Jax's got no fucking clue what sort of shit will find its way out of his mouth until he's had time to think.

"C'mon, bro, JT wants everyone in the Chapel so we can settle this shit."

"A'ight, I'll meet you in there." Jesus, he even _sounds_ like a guy that's just gotten word of some life changing shit; luckily, Ope either doesn't notice or assumes he's just in here taking care of business, because his footfalls a moment later get further and further away until Jax can hear the faint sounds of the apartment door closing. Jax takes a deep breath, then another, and another- until they're not so ragged. It's only when he could swear he can feel the oxygen entering his capillaries- somehow both steadying and invigorating- that he gathers the courage to stare down the man in the mirror once more.

"Get it the fuck together, Teller."

This time, he's pretty sure he'd said it out loud.

* * *

"I want to welcome our Brothers from the Fresno and Rogue River chapters."

JT's voice reaches the darkest corners of the Chapel, prodding at the edge of Jax's consciousness and bringing him out of the virtual fucking haze he'd found himself in the past fifteen minutes.

The place is packed full with Sons around the table, lining the walls- even more so than the last time he'd been allowed in here- and so is the damn clubhouse, honestly. He'd scanned the crowd frantically for a glimpse of Tara on his way through the throng of Old Ladies and hangers-on but to no avail- and when he'd lingered just outside the Chapel doors, Chibs had tossed an arm around his shoulders and said…

Well, Chibs had said _something_\- something that had failed to register just like everything goddamn else that had crossed his path in the past twenty minutes or so.

As his father continues talking, Jax lets his mind- and his eyes- wander back out to the party that's currently in at least half-swing out in the main room of the clubhouse. If he angles his head just right, he can just about see the bar and half of the tables- most of which are currently occupied by mechanics and hangers-on- but he doesn't give a shit about any of them. He cranes his neck- subtly, he hopes- even further to the right until he glimpses the edge of the kitchen door and a head of dark brown hair he instantly recognizes as belonging to Donna. Christ, where there's Donna there's got to be-

"Sorry, John," Piney grunts as he edges through the narrow gap in the double doors, pushing one open by necessity to accommodate his girth and revealing the remainder of Donna's form, head bowed in seemingly deep conversation with Tara at her left. Jax's heart lurches- fuck, it's got to be somewhere in the vicinity of his throat from the feel of it- and he can't stop his eyes from flickering, irrationally, to her midsection- even though he knows her body as well as he knows his own, knows that just yesterday he'd run his hands over her sleek midriff on his way south and had found nothing that had given him pause. His glimpse of her- still as slim and delectable as ever- ends as quickly as it had been granted when Piney shuts the door behind himself, squeezes between Jax and the Sons already at the table, and settles into his chair at JT's left.

"Jesus, that guy's long-winded," Piney's saying as he straightens his kutte. JT just chuckles, and Brewster, Fresno's President, pipes up from nearby.

"Thought the same thing m'self when I talked to him after the accident," he says, affably. "But the guy knows his shit." Piney shrugs in response and directs his attention, silently, back to JT.

"I'm sure you all know the reason we're meetin' here tonight, why the Presidents and Vice Presidents of our three charters have already held a brief summit." Nearly everyone around the table nods, silently. "All three of our charters have been affected by the actions of Cameron Hayes: Rogue River by the hostage situation involving women and children, and SAMCRO and Fresno by the murder of one of its First Nine patched members and his old lady."

"Coulda been your goddamn kid, too, Boss" Happy growls from somewhere in the back, but JT just continues speaking, though his jaw tightens, briefly, the spark of anger in his eyes seeming to ignite at the very thought.

"We've been waitin' on some goddamn proof ever since the prick took off back to Ireland; haven't had shit to go on… until last week." Again, nods around the table, and Jax bobs his head along with the rest of them- hoping he at least appears focused, ready. After all, this shit's been eating at him for months, and he's the whole goddamn reason the other charters had agreed, once again, to have two prospects sit in on the proceedings. Even so, it takes a conscious effort to keep his mind on Cameron Hayes, but he manages it, for the time being.

"Got a call from the Irish Kings a little while back, tippin' us off that Cameron was headed back Stateside; gave us dates, times, the location of the new safehouse… everything." JT pauses, glances around the table before continuing. "They denied any knowledge of his actions up at Rogue River-" at this, the Rogue River contingent scoffs "as well as any sanctioned hit on either Keith or Maureen." A low rumble sets up around the room, but JT merely holds up a hand until it quiets down. "Here's the thing, boys- we ain't in a position to take on the Kings... but they ain't in a position to throw their weight around over here, not when they're neck-deep in their own pile of shit in Belfast. But Cameron… he might be the only piece left in the US that the Irish still have control of." His eyes flicker around the room, landing briefly on Jax before taking in the begrudging nods of most of the patched members.

"All three of our charters, along with most of the rest of the West Coast Sons of Anarchy, have voted to end movin' guns for the Real IRA. I know most of you got families- kids, old ladies, people y' care about. This kind of shit- hostage situations, killin' old ladies, endangering kids- it's the whole reason we're steppin' back-"

"And steppin' back's all well and good, but if the Kings had a hand in any of this and we let it slide…" Jax doesn't recognize the patch that had interrupted, but what he does recognize is the incensed look on Piney's face as he half-rises out of his chair, his face growing redder by the moment- it's a look that's been directed at him more times than he can count since he was a kid.

"We ain't _lettin' shit slide_, asshole," Piney grits out between clenched teeth. "We're here to hear about our options, decide what the fuck to do about 'em… so d'ya mind?" The other guy narrows his eyes, but merely tilts his head back as if to say _go ahead._

"Fill 'em in, Piney." JT leans back in his chair, which protests mildly with a creak that seems to echo in the silent room, and lights a cigarette as Piney begins to speak.

"Had a couple of our guys check out the safe house, get some info on Cameron's habits; seems like he was smart enough to swap out his cage, been ridin' around in some old piece of shit." He pauses, takes in the slight disappointment crossing everyone's faces before a faint grin twitches at the edges of his lips. "Too stupid to get rid of his old ride altogether though- he's got the Buick squirreled away in some old shed on the property. Couldn't get a close enough look at it, but it's got a nice, big scuff on the front left…" Piney lets his voice trail off as where, exactly, he's going with all this dawns on most of the men around the table.

"...which coulda been caused by him runnin' McGee and Maureen off the road," Kozik finishes slowly. "So what do we do about it?"

"According to the Kings, Cameron's got a meet tomorrow with some contact they've got in place up North- someone to help him disappear. We're havin' Happy tail him, keep us posted with his whereabouts." JT answers, pausing to take a drag off his cigarette. "He's gonna answer to Rogue River about his behavior that day, either way, but we got to shore a few things up first when it comes to Keith and Mo."

"Namely, boys, we need proof- proof to keep the Kings off our backs should Cameron disappear because of us and they have a change of heart, some dirt on their number one associate on the West Coast to hold onto in case we need it." JT lets his gaze, suddenly full of steel, move over each and every man in the room. "And Sons don't retaliate unless we got proof."

"An' jus' how are we gettin' tha' proof?" It's Chibs, speaking up for the first time since they'd sat down, jaw working as he glances back and forth between his president and VP.

"While Cameron's at that meet, we're gonna get us the world's biggest paint sample," Piney replies, grinning and raising his shoulders. "We're takin' the whole goddamn cage to our very own forensic expert first thing tomorrow morning- guy said if that scrape really is paint transfer from Maureen's car, that's all he needs- he's already got the sample from the scene of the accident; he said he can get us the results same-day. We get our answers, we can finish this business out before the end of the day tomorrow."

"So what's this all lookin' like? Who we got on this?" Bobby grunts, folding his hands.

"Piney's agreed to drive the truck down to the safe house overnight and wait out Cameron- he should be leavin' before dawn; figured it would make sense to avoid trippin' him out with the bikes. Hap's on Cameron's tail in the van, and we'll send a few more with him, avoid any issues when it comes to roundin' him up once the proof's in."

"Alright- we're in- how many guys you need?" The Rogue River President's offer is seconded quickly by a sound of agreement from Brewster.

"Hap?"

"Don't matter, Boss. I was plannin' on takin' Tig and Chibs-"

"Naw, brother, this concerns all our charters. We're sendin' someone, whether you think you need us or not."

"He's right, Hap." JT sighs, appearing to think for a moment before coming to a decision. "Alright. Each club sends its Sergeant-At-Arms, and Chibs'll ride along to translate the Catholic. Sound fair?" Nods from around the table. "We'll also need someone to ride down to the safehouse with Piney, drive the truck back up here once he's on his way to Vegas with Cameron's cage."

"My boy can do it." Jax's head snaps up; the voice is unmistakable, that quiet, increasingly gruff voice he's known practically all his life. For his part, Piney half-turns in his chair, raising his chin and regarding Opie with slightly narrowed eyes, which seems to prompt the Rogue River Pres to interject.

"He's a prospect, Piney- one of our guys can ride along-"

"Yup. And I was a prospect when we made that drop up to your clubhouse, too." Ope points out evenly from his spot next to Jax, his face set before raising his voice a bit to address the room as a whole. "I'll ride out with Pop, turn around and come right back. Easy." JT looks troubled, unsure, Brewster strokes his beard thoughtfully, and the rest of the gathered Sons look on with interest. Opie seems to sense the hesitation and continues, quickly.

"Besides- the truck ain't run right since I was a kid; you got to handle her just so or she'll die on ya, and the last thing we need is someone who don't know what they're doing gettin' stuck in Cameron's back yard."

"My point." Piney grunts, pointing a meaty finger at Ope.

"Anyone got a problem with the kid makin' the run?" When there's no response, JT nods reluctantly, rests his hands on the gavel at his right. "A'ight. Ope goes. But I don't want you drivin' back up here alone after you make the pickup- you follow Piney somewhere safe, maybe that convenience store on the edge of town, park the truck and ride along to Vegas to the meet with the expert. You got that?"

"Yup."

"Got it." Piney settles back into his chair as a hint of a grim smile curves Opie's lips, and Jax can't help but wonder what's on his mind, what's pushed him into actually speaking up with half of three charters worth of patched members at the table. Both of them had been content to watch, to listen, knowing that they'd only been included because of JT's acknowledgement of their involvement in the Rogue River situation; now that the shit's finally almost over, he, too, had felt a pull to see it through, to be involved… but he hadn't guessed Opie felt the same. The guy's been distant, moody, even downright abrasive ever since he'd been letting the Otto situation get to him, but he'd been steadfast in his support when Rogue River, Keith and Maureen, and the resulting nightmares had practically eaten Jax alive. Maybe volunteering for this run when he can't do shit to help Otto, is the only way Ope feels like he's doing good, a part of the club. Problem is, how the fuck can Jax do the same?

His thoughts are interrupted almost as soon as they'd begun by the bang of the gavel, and his eyes fly up to find JT's own gaze, boring into him as he gently rests the gavel on the block.

"I guess that's settled. So that leaves us with the real issue, the reason you're all at the table tonight." A pause, during which JT tents his fingers and drags his eyes away from Jax's to survey the rest of the men in the room. "Retaliation."

"I got this, Boss. We grab him after the meet, get him somewhere in those deep woods up North, and we take him out. Clean, no issues." Happy growls around his toothpick, as a chorus of agreement rises behind him. JT, however, shakes his head.

"LIke I said earlier, boys- we need proof. If he ain't implicated in Mo's crash, things get sticky; the Sons ain't never been about fightin' fire with a goddamn flamethrower, and as much as I hate what happened up in Rogue River, holdin' someone hostage for money that's owed him- even an old lady and her kids- well… shit like that's traditionally handled by a beatdown. That plus cuttin' ties, excommunication, endin' the business relationship, that kind of thing." Jax pushes away the burning in his chest that comes with the absolute certainty that if anyone ever held a knife to Tara's throat, he'd fucking end him- whether it be by gun, knife, or with his bare fucking hands- and watches as the Rogue River President tenses, his jaw ticking even as he nods, stiffly, under JT's scrutiny.

"That kind of restraint, givin' our enemies a fair shake when the situation calls for it… that's what separates us from the Irish. They gave us the intel on this guy for one reason, and one reason only- they want him gone, and they want us to kill him… But we ain't never been about murder for hire." At this, TIg bangs a fist on the table, pitching forward in his seat to level a glare at JT.

"He killed a First Nine! An _old lady_-"

"Maybe. Hell, _probably_." JT corrects, evenly, never wavering under the heat of the other man's gaze. "And if he did, we follow through with the retaliation. But if he didn't and we take him out anyway, all we're doin' is dancin' like puppets on a stage… and the Kings are the ones holdin' the strings."

"And if the IRA set him in motion to begin with, knowin' we'd kill him if we caught on?" Bobby says, quietly, eyes fixed on his hands.

"Well, that's what we're votin' on, now, ain't it? What happens to Cameron Hayes in any given scenario is _our _decision. Ours, alone." JT's voice is steely, now, causing even Tig's mouth to snap shut, Bobby's eyes to fly up to rest on him, Brewster and the Rogue River president to rap on the table and murmur in agreement, by turn.

"So, I guess we got two questions in front of us. First, in the event that the paint transfer doesn't match and we don't have proof that he was involved in the murder of Maureen Ashby and Keith McGee, does Cameron Hayes deserve to die for holding a President's old lady and kids hostage? Remember, he ain't a club member, so this ain't a Mayhem vote… we don't need to be unanimous, just a majority."

The silence in the moments before the first vote seems interminable, somehow, and Jax has a brief flash of the only Mayhem vote he'd ever witnessed- the one that had ended with Clay on the floor of the clubhouse, blood blooming on his white t-shirt and a strangled gasp rattling his chest. He'd been so determined to see Clay pay, so consumed- first with that blinding rage at what he'd done, followed with utter shock at watching him gunned down right there in the clubhouse, and finally with the simply task of staying upright after it was all over- that he'd never really thought about the vote itself. Never considered the fact that with life or death hanging in the balance, someone's fate was determined with a single word.

"Aye." Hap's voice is rough, but firm, and Jax isn't surprised in the least. There's a long pause, however, before Chibs' voice follows.

"Nay."

The rest come in rapid succession, one by one, bypassing both Jax and Opie, and by the end of it all, Bobby's given up on keeping a tally because of the overwhelming majority.

"Nays have it," JT affirms with a brisk nod, lowering the gavel and not even bothering to cast his vote; he gives Tig, Happy, and the Rogue River Sergeant-At-Arms only a moment to absorb the defeat before clearing his throat and moving on- to yet another possible death sentence, another set of gallows just waiting for a body to fill them.

"In the event that his involvement is proven, does Cameron Hayes deserve to to die for the murders of Maureen Ashby and Keith McGee?" Again, each patched member delivers his own personal verdict, his own conviction and death sentence all wrapped up in one word.

"Yep."

"Aye."

"Yeah."

"Yes."

And as the votes in the affirmative stream in, Jax's vision dials in on his father, sitting, grim-faced, as he waits for the others to speak like some sort of judge without a stake in the outcome of the trial he's witnessing. It's only after Piney's rumbling _Aye_ that he moves at all, the word crossing his lips half a second before his hand closes around the gavel.

"Aye." JT stops, momentarily- the gavel poised in midair, his fingers flexing around it- a mere breath away from delivering the final words that would seal Cameron Hayes' fate and set SAMCRO on the path that would, at long last, bring justice for Maureen and McGee. It would bring relief and safety for the mother and two little girls up in Oregon- maybe even Trinity, too- and maybe finally grant Jax absolution from the entire fucked-up wreckage the whole thing had spiraled into in his mind. Then, the gavel's crashing down, the sentence is read…

And that's fucking it.

This time, there's no sick sense of dread, no burst of freedom from the thoughts that had been tormenting him for months, no death rattle, no blood… just Piney clearing his throat, Hap chuckling, Bobby's chair creaking as he settles back into it, Brewster and the Rogue River president reaching across the corner of the Reaper table to shake hands. On his other side, even Ope merely shoves his hands in his pockets and rests against the wall. And as the patched members discuss how, exactly, to work all the moving pieces of the situation, Jax finds himself simultaneously disturbed and mildly intrigued by his ambivalence.

He'd expected… _more_, somehow- from what would be the literal end of the shit that's been haunting him for months, this last shred of the only real remaining threat the Irish still pose to SAMCRO and his family. Some sort of release- some gut-wrenching reaction to the fact that Cameron Hayes is now a dead man walking, that his father, his godfather, and his future brothers had just calmly voted to murder him; he'd expected to feel… hell, either better or even more fucked up, one. But now that the moment's here, Jax finds that it's just another piece of club business, a step in the same direction they'd all been traveling rather than a release.

He barely has time to wonder why before his heart catches up with his brain, nudging him with the vision of the only thing that's truly brought him relief from the bleak landscape he'd allowed himself to sink into when the nightmares had begun- fitting himself along Tara's curves, wrapping her up in his arms the way she'd managed to weave herself into his heart, matching his breaths to her own. He'd found himself in her bed whenever his prospecting duties allowed it, because sleeping well without her just wasn't an option; even as a kid, he'd known Tara was the balm to the raw edges of his psyche, but he hadn't realized over the past few weeks just how much she'd really helped him heal, from the inside out. So much so, that all of this seems like an afterthought, somehow, now that it's finally here.

And like an electric jolt to the chest, a flash of the the moments- _the_ moment- he'd spent in the apartment earlier slam into Jax, its impact reminding him of the other reason everything that had seemed so important hours ago has suddenly faded into the background: the strong possibility that Tara's out there, somewhere in the clubhouse, carrying his baby.

There it is again, the wash of panic, the faint hint of dizziness that comes pressing into the edges of his consciousness- pretty much the shit he'd experienced the last time he'd witnessed a Mayhem vote, really. Except, this time, it's at the image of himself as a father, charged with the protection and care of a whole other person he'd made with the love of his life- something he'd only recently begun to consider

Well, that's not fair, exactly; of course he's considered it before- a rowdy troop of towheaded stairsteps that look like him… or maybe a little girl with dark ringlets and Tara's inquisitive green eyes- _Christ, Gemma would shit._ He chuckles, briefly, to himself before sobering quickly at the vision that follows- someone else looking to him for guidance, for protection- as if he's even figured out how the fuck to handle himself just yet, or keep Tara clear of the ever-present stream of complications SAMCRO brought their way. A kid, though… that's always been on the very edge of the radar, someday when he's back in SAMCRO, Tara's a doctor, and they know what the fuck they're doing.

"Jax!"

Ope's elbow, jabbing sharply into his ribcage, serves to finish jolting Jax out of his thoughts, along with the heavy scraping of the wooden chairs in the Chapel as the patched members finally rise from their positions around the Reaper table. Christ, he'd missed most of the logistics surrounding the next couple days' plans- not that it really matters, since none of them pertain to him anyway- not if his father's bound and determined to continue giving him information and then expecting him to step back and let the patched members take care of business. Blinking, hard, and swiping a hand down his face in an attempt to return to the reality before him, Jax catches his father's eye as he dismisses the table.

"Go on ahead, boys- Gem and the girls'll set you up with a plate and a drink." The more than enthusiastic response sets a faint grin alight on JT's face, and it's a second or two later when he adds, "Just remember, some of you- Hap, Chibs, Ope, Piney, you two- got to roll out in a few hours, so you might want to get your, uh, extracurriculars taken care of sooner rather than later." The snickering that follows is all but lost in the strains from the jukebox that pour into the room the moment Bobby swings the doors open, and Jax can't help but search the areas of the main clubhouse he can see from his vantage point behind Opie for some sign of Tara.

"Hey, Son?"

Reluctantly, Jax tears his eyes from the room ahead- _where is she?_\- and swivels to focus on his father as the rest of the club files out of the Chapel.

"Have a seat, a minute. And, Ope-" At this, Opie, too, stops his progress and turns his attention to JT. "Help the girls handle the bar for a little while, but you make sure and take a break before you and your old man have to take off." As Ope nods and heads off, ostensibly to find Piney, food, or both, someone closes the door behind him, blocking Jax's view of the clubhouse once again. Christ, it's is own fault he'd spent so much time in the apartment trying not to lose his shit; then, he'd lasted, somehow, through that entire hour-plus session of Church. Now, Jax finds his patience well and truly wearing thin- a frustration he immediately takes out on the chair, dropping his entire six-foot-plus frame into it without mercy and sending it groaning dangerously beneath his weight. If JT notices, he doesn't let on, just leans back in his own and strokes his beard, thoughtfully.

"Y'know, I said, earlier, that this wasn't a Mayhem vote- and technically, it ain't; Cameron Hayes is a club associate, and Mayhem only applies to members. But that distinction don't really mean shit when you get down to the morals of it, does it?" Jax snorts and shifts, uncomfortably, in his seat.

"Don't really feel like gettin' into a discussion about the morals of killin' someone, Dad-"

"Doesn't even need to be a discussion, Jackson; just listen a minute. I know you've been strugglin' with the meaning behind it all, the weight of the knowledge that this ain't all fun and games, that what we do in here… out there- it affects everyone we care about."  
"Some of them-" JT nods at the double doors leading to the rest of the clubhouse, through which Jax can hear muffled rock music and snatches of raucous laughter- "they take all this shit in stride. It's black and white to guys like Hap, Tig, and a few others: you fuck with a brother or his family, you die. And we need guys like that, Son- guys who can take the hard choice and run with it; guys who are so fierce, so loyal, that protecting this club becomes a second nature - instinct when everything else is smoky." JT pauses a moment, brow knitting as he fixes his dark eyes on Jax's own.

"But we can't all see things in black and white, Jackson. We need men like Bobby and Chibs, to ask the hard questions; ones like Piney- and maybe even one day, Ope- to bend a little when the situation calls for it. And we need men like you, like me- to see that gray area, to look for somethin' more, the reasons why; otherwise, we're left with only two choices- the black and the white." JT chuckles, a bit. "And I guess Adorno would have somethin' to say about that- _Freedom would be not to choose between black and white but to abjure such prescribed choices_\- it's part of why we started all of this."

"Anyway… I didn't keep you in here to talk sociology," JT deadpans, his gaze flickering over Jax's shoulder to the clubhouse doors, an area to which Jax has kept his back resolutely turned in an attempt to push from his mind the fact that Tara's somewhere out there, to allow himself to resist the urge to slake his need to see her, make sure she's alright. "I just wanted to check in; I know this shit's had you twisted up some since it happened, and-"

"Jesus Christ, I'm fine, Dad, alright?" The words explode from his lips, a little- okay a lot- more forcefully than he'd meant them to. His voice echoes in the confines of the empty Chapel, and what he doesn't add is _at least, I will be if everyone could stop fucking asking._

"Didn't say you weren't _fine,_ Jackson," his father returns, evenly. "What I am sayin' is that there ain't much I miss, especially when it comes to my family, and I damn sure didn't miss the fact that you were a million miles away the last half hour or so, shovin' all of this into some compartment in that head of yours." Jax shakes his head in exasperation, sitting rigidly upright in a desperate attempt to make his father understand.

"It ain't even about that- about_ this_\- at least, not anymore. I'm glad you let Ope and I sit in, but if I'm not in on the retaliation or doin' somethin' to help, to be a part of all this… I just need to be done with fuckin' Cameron Hayes, no matter what the outcome is. And yeah, that shit messed with me for a while, but I figured out, recently, that it was gettin' easier and easier." No use in letting JT know that _recently _was approximately ten minutes ago. "I expected this Mayhem vote to be big, some life-altering shit, but it wasn't- not compared to Clay." _And not compared to the very real possibility that I might be a father myself, soon._

"Even if ain't Hayes, you got somethin' on your mind, Son- that much is clear." JT studies him a moment before continuing, fingers tented at his belly- his relaxed position in the chair doing little justice to the concern now taking root in his father's eyes... and Jax is tempted. Tempted to sit in this chair at his father's right and ask for counsel like he'd seen the others do so many times before; tempted to let his head sink into his hands and ask JT how he'd reacted to the news when Gemma had delivered it- and if he'd felt unworthy, too. What he does instead is release a shaky breath and shrug, slouch in the chair to hide just how amped up he really is.

"Just got some shit to work out- it ain't club shit, but with all of this winding down, I guess I'm a little distracted." There- enough truth to hopefully slide past his father's truly excellent ability to glean what's on his mind, but not enough to keep him talking. He needs answers, and every interaction he's had so far today had him realizing he needs them from Tara- without JT's direction, Gemma's meddling, or anyone else's interference. He owes that to her, and to himself- but first, he's got to get the fuck out of this conversation and figure out just what in the hell he's going to say.

JT nods, slowly, as if rolling Jax's words around in his mind, evaluating his current level of bullshit. Then-

_"Go_, Son. Get outta here for a while and take a ride, clear your head." Jax shoots his father a perplexed look, but JT waves him off. "Your ma and the girls got the food handled and Ope can bring in the rest of that beer if they need it. You'll need to spell him anyway once he and Piney are ready to take off, so now's gonna be your last shot until everyone that's not goin' up North finally calls it a night. And then tomorrow, we got a big day." Guiltily, Jax studies his hands- Christ, he'd been so caught up in his own head he hadn't even tried to insist on being involved in any of what's sure to be a fairly complicated set of maneuvers… actually, he'd barely even listened to the plan.

"I know you're itchin' to get your hands in the fight Jackson- which is one reason I almost decided against you and Ope sittin' in on all of this. In the end, though- even though Piney and I felt like you deserved to be in the know on this, you're still a Prospect and I got to respect the bylaws as we wrote 'em… at least some of 'em. Keep the other charters happy, for one thing, make sure you're not gettin' in over your head for another. But you'll get there, earn your top rocker… and it's comin' up sooner than you think. Alright?"

"Yeah, okay." It's clear from his expression that JT wants to continue prodding, but he chooses to remain silent as he stands and pulls Jax from the chair, sending him pitching forward into his father's embrace. It's brief, solid, but Jax manages to draw something from it that he hadn't from their conversation just now- reassurance.

* * *

It's times like these that Jax finds his bike seems to know where he's headed before he does. Maybe it's muscle memory, some sort of brain-body connection that leads him to steer towards his destination even as he contemplates his route. Or maybe there's a hint of truth to the lore that rider and bike become one on these night rides, each anticipating the other's next move- seamless in the only way that truly matters.

Whatever the reason, it isn't until after he's put the bike through its paces- opened it up on some newly paved road just outside town until the curves become effortless and the straightaways rejuvenating- that he turns back towards Charming, slowly becoming more and more aware of where he's headed with each passing mile.

After over an hour of tamping down an almost desperate need to see Tara- assess her current state and his own reaction to it- the sight of her beside his mother and Donna, casually fixing up plates of food for a room full of bikers, had been an instant relief. She hadn't been tearfully whispering to Donna about her jeopardized future, or sightlessly staring into some corner, contemplating how everything was going to change... and he'd found himself able to slip his arm around her waist, brush his lips against her temple, and murmur some shit about how he had a quick errand to run for JT without succumbing to the darker parts of his mind that were urging him to drag her to the apartment to pepper her with questions. She'd just smiled… and then practically knocked the wind out of him when she stretched to put her own lips to his ear and murmur, herself-

_"I need to talk to you, later."_

Her usual sly smile- full of promise and a sure sign he was either about to get fantastically laid or a horrendous case of blue balls- was absent, her mossy eyes searching his once she retreated, for… _something_. Fuck, he'd had no clue what she'd been expecting to find there, or whether she'd found it. She'd merely kissed him quickly before returning to Gemma, her attention swiftly, pointedly, aimed at someone else, leaving him to swallow his questions and beat it for the clubhouse door.

As a result, he's glad he hadn't really figured on winding up at Charming Cemetery until a few minutes ago. She'd have been instantly on edge- alert to where, exactly, his mind was, since he tends to come out heer to think shit through- and there's no way he'd have gotten out of there without at least a few questions he's got zero clue how he'd have answered. Then, he wouldn't have been able to resist demanding his own answers and more than likely would have put his goddamn foot in his mouth, said some hasty, stupid shit in a situation that calls for more thought than anything he'd ever done.

He'd also dodged JT's suggestion that he take Koz or somebody so he wouldn't be riding alone, and now that he's here, cutting the engine and edging between two stones before tossing his riding gloves into the soft grass, he's doubly thankful he'd taken only part of JT's advice. He's alone with no distractions, and able to sort out his thoughts before one of the best listeners, ever.

"Hey, Tommy,"

Jax's voice is soft, despite the fact that the place is deserted at such a late hour, and he finds that he can't help the grin from catching at the corners of his mouth.

"Been a little while, Bro- sorry about that." He shrugs, as if Tommy can see him, somehow, and drops next to his gloves at the base of his brother's headstone. "A lot of stuff has happened since I was here last- club stuff you probably don't want me borin' you with- but it's okay… _I'm_ okay, even though I didn't think I would be for a long-a- uh, a long time."

And he_ is _okay, Jax realizes; he'd spent a large chunk of the evening assuring others- affirming to himself, even- that he was fine with the Cameron shit, and it's nothing short of freeing to finally actually _believe_ it… even accounting for the nagging feeling that he should probably feel at least a shred of some emotion about being privy to a murder plot. However, that had all taken a rather rapid backseat to a certain little white piece of plastic.

"I can't say I ain't out here for a reason, though; I feel like I always got a pile of stuff to unload on you- and I'm sorry for that, too, I guess. But Tara, she…" Jax sighs, swallowing thickly and resting his head against Tommy's stone before letting the words tumble out all at one. "Well, she might be pregnant- uh, havin' a baby, I mean- and you're the first one I've told. The only one I've told." It's a fact he realizes only now as he states it; he hasn't said the words- _Tara's pregnant… might be pregnant… I might be a father_\- out loud before just now, let alone directly to anyone else. Had _she_?

"I love her, Bro- you know that, probably better'n most; - and I'd be lyin' if I said I haven't thought about it, had a sort of dream about it, before. Tara, havin' my babies, startin' a family- it was always gonna happen 'cause she's it for me, and I'd… She'd be the best mom- I just got a feeling- so it ain't that. It's- "

Jesus, it's hard to swallow all of a sudden- his throat's so tight, he'd swear someone was clutching at it much like the way he's currently twisting the life out of his SAMCRO hoodie. As a result, it's a minute before Jax is confident he'll be able to actually speak the words that have been swirling in his head all evening without sounding like either a complete pussy or a total headcase- good thing it's just him and Tommy.

"I've seen some things, Tommy, there's no denyin' that; Clay, kids bein' held hostage, Mayhem votes… and I admit it messed me up. But _this_\- this scares the shit out of me. How can I be what Tara needs, what my _kid_ needs, when I get lost in my own head the moment shit gets real, when I practically passed out just seein' the damn test?" A groan rips from his chest, muffled only by his knees as he hangs his head between them in defeat. Of _course_ he loves her- he'll love her until the day he dies. Of _course _she'd be a great mom- she approaches new challenges with a vigor and dedication he's never seen from anyone else, and he's sure she'll apply that wholeheartedly to a family. But at what cost to her dreams, their plans to stay together?

"She deserves someone who's got her back, you know? Because if it's true, this changes everything. I just…" Jax makes a frustrated noise as he scrubs his hands across his face; Christ, he's even fumbling for words here at his brother's grave in the moonlight, witnessed only by the trees arching overhead. What the hell is he supposed to say when it's just the two of them closed in the apartment- where there's no running away, no more time to think?

And that's just it, Jax realizes- he's spent far too much time thinking, a prisoner in his own head, when things got hard. What the fuck had happened to the Jax Teller that had, at sixteen, helped bring down Clay, the illegitimate, murderous King of SAMCRO? The Jax Teller that had simply knocked the fuck out of the last person to threaten to come between he and Tara? Where had that Jax been when he was practically fucking hallucinating at a funeral? None of that matters, now, but when push comes to blood, when she really needs him, where the fuck will he be?

_"We need men like you, like me, to see the gray area- to look for somethin' more, the reasons why."_

"You'll get there, earn your top rocker, and it's comin' up- sooner than you think."

JT's words seem to echo in his head- the acknowledgement that Jax, like his father, is restless and contemplative, but more importantly the warning that soon he'll be a patched member and expected to act accordingly- channel all of that in the right direction and be a man, whether that means as a Son or as a father. And for the second time tonight, Gemma's words come to him, too- steeling what had been shaky, newfound resolve, but resolve just the same: _men take care of business._ He's about to be a Son, possibly a father as well; his club- and Tara, above all- deserves Jax Teller the man.

"It's time to grow up."

* * *

By the time Jax strides back into the clubhouse some time later, he feels like a new man; sure, there's still what's probably the biggest unanswered question of his life hanging over his head, he's still scared shitless at the prospect of being a father, but somehow, the shit that had accompanied it- that feeling that he was drowning in a sea of doubt and insecurity- had subsided. The scene that greets him, too, has a renewed buzz, a positive energy he hasn't felt in a while; he's just not sure if it has more to do with the light at the end of the Irish tunnel, or with his own- more determined- outlook.

Sons are everywhere- drinking, smoking, laughing- and it's with a familiar fondness but also an ease that's been absent, lately, that Jax lets his gaze move over the clubhouse. Ope's behind the bar pulling beers for some of the Rogue River and Fresno patches, shaking his head, ruefully, at their ribbing; Bobby and Piney are seated in front of him, clutching half-empty glasses and laughing fit to kill at something Brewster's just said. Over by the pool table, Kozik's bitching at Tig to get the fuck off the table; Tig just laughs and stays seated, showing off what Jax would lay odds is a photo of that dog, Missy, to a half-interested Fresno patch. A moment later, Chibs ambles out of the back hallway and immediately spots Jax near the doorway- a grin blooms on his scarred face as he raises his beer in salute, paying no heed to the bit that sloshes over the edge.

"Jackie Boyyy!"

And just like that, the clubhouse is filled with the rise of a chorus of voices and laughter, reminiscent of that TV show about a bar his grandpa Nate used to watch every week. This group of rough men, most of them criminals, greeting him like a brother- like a Son- his extended family even when his head's not in the game, even when shit gets rough. And he owes it to all of them to get his shit together, give what he gets.

"'Bout time, Boy- switch out with Ope so he can track down Donna before we have to take off," Piney's calling over the din, and Jax finds himself the recipient of an actual fucking grin from the guy in question for the first time in days.

They work side by side for a minute, pulling beers, pouring whiskey, before Ope- evidently satisfied Jax can handle the momentary lull at the bar- dries his hands on a bar towel and leans against the back counter, angling his head in that way he does when he's about to ask some question… usually one that digs right to the heart of the matter with expert precision.

"You a'ight?" Jax frowns a bit in response before focusing intently on the the new bottle of Jack he's been trying, unsuccessfully, to open since Ope had stepped back.

"Yeah, brother, I'm fine." Finally, the plastic peels away, and he chances a glance at Opie before tossing it in the trash. "You?" Ope just snorts, though he shows no traces of the sullen, biting sarcasm from their conversation earlier.

"I ain't the one disappeared-"

"Yeah, well… I'm good. I'm.. back." _Yeah. Back._ It fits, seems to sum up what he's feeling without filling Ope in on too much.

"You're back, huh?" Ope scratches his beard, thoughtfully, raising a critical eyebrow . "So what's that look like?"

"I dunno, man," Jax sighs, "but I do know one thing; all the shit that's goin' down- in the club, in my life… It's _my_ shit, and I'm figuring it out. I… I got this."

"Good to hear, brother." The grin Ope has for him widens, suddenly, as his friend seems to fixate on something over Jax's shoulder; the beer he'd been holding is quickly forgotten on the counter as his body practically strains in that direction and before Jax even turns around, he knows he'll see Donna standing there… and where there's Donna there's Tara. His lips curve just at the thought of seeing her, despite the pounding that also sets up residence in his chest a moment later, when the implications of the conversation they're about to have wash over him again.

Except, when Jax swivels towards the end of the bar and the kitchen door, Tara's nowhere in sight; Donna's making her way behind the bar and towards them, Gemma's sliding into position at his father's side, and a few other Old Ladies and hangarounds are filtering through the kitchen door after them, ostensibly finished with the dinner cleanup. He waits, long enough for Donna to brush past him and practically fling herself into Opie's arms, long enough for the trail of women to exit the kitchen and disperse through the crowded clubhouse, and long enough for a peculiar feeling to settle into his chest once again.

"God, I need a drink," Donna groans, dramatically, tugging playfully at Opie's beard. "I just listened to a solid hour of Precious bitching about Bobby, and then Gemma's speech about how Old Ladies are the glue that hold this club family together. Opie snickers and turns to the beer cooler, rooting around for a moment before triumphantly emerging with a Zima- only to find himself on the receiving end of a light backhand to the chest. "What part of _hours of bitching _did you miss, Baby? And you're supposed to be a bartender…" Rolling his eyes at both her chiding smirk and the way she holds her empty glass out expectantly, Opie obligingly reaches past Jax for the bottle of Jack and dumps a good measure into the glass. Donna's sipping contentedly by the time Jax shakes himself out of the daze brought on by all of the implications that little exchange had just spawned long enough to croak-

"Tara in the kitchen?"

"Tara's in the apartment, lyin' down," comes the answer, from somewhere behind him.

Jax wheels around to find Gemma tucked under JT's arm, her glare piercing his defenses; unwillingly, he swallows, as if to somehow prevent himself from revealing his thoughts, his fears.

"She was practically dead on her feet in the kitchen- she'd dried maybe two of my goddamn serving platters before I told her to go to the back and rest before she actually dropped one of 'em." She looks him up and down before continuing, irritably. "I _told_ you she looked exhausted when you got here, Jackson- what the hell is goin' on?" JT squeezes her hip, shoots Jax a glance before soothing,

"Tara's a college student Gem- she's got finals week comin' up, work… she's probably just burnin' the candle at both ends."

"Wouldn't have had to work if she'd have just sucked it up and stayed in the goddamn apartment _like I said_-"

"Ma-"

"I mean it, Jackson- I really could've used the help tonight, but more importantly, _you_ need to be lookin' out for her, makin' sure-"

"_Drop it, Mom_." This time, Jax's voice is louder than he'd meant it to be, with an edge that doesn't even begin to let on just how much his mother's words are hitting him where it hurts, and she flinches, but he can't bring himself to feel all that bad about it- not really. _Jesus Christ, if you only knew…_ He pushes away fleeting thoughts of his mother's reaction to news that Tara's pregnant, that Gemma would be a grandmother, and clears his throat, does his best to soften his voice. "I'm sorry, it's just that there ain't a lot I can do, you know? _You _try to keep Tara from preparing for a test, see where that gets ya."

"He's got a point, Darlin'-" his father chuckles, seconds before Gemma pokes him in the side.

"_Darlin',_ my ass. And you-" she directs her attention at Jax- "I need you out here, and she needs to rest- don't you go crawlin' into that bed until that new blonde girl shows back up- she's the only one with any bartending experience at all besides you." Jax deflates, a bit- that's exactly what he had intended to go do- but looks his mother in the eye and sends her the closest thing to a smirk he can manage, determined to keep his disappointment to himself.

"Yes, _ma'am_."

"Asshole."

* * *

Jax isn't sure what the hell time it is when he finally drags himself into the apartment some time later- he'd had to wait for _new blonde girl _to return from the empty dorm room where she'd been doing god-knows-what with some Fresno patch, and then the Rogue River president had insisted on several rounds of shots as they sent both the group tailing Cameron and Piney and Ope in the truck off in style. To make things even fuzzier, the ancient alarm clock on the nightstand had seized up at some point and frozen halfway through flipping from 12:01 to 12:02- though it's still casting a soft, red glow that spills across the bed, revealing the dark cascade of Tara's hair sweeping across the far pillow.

Her breath is coming slowly, punctuated occasionally by the little sighs that have always been his clue that she's in a deep sleep. She looks peaceful, perfect, everything he wants from the mother of his children whenever they come- a sharp contrast to the time they'd spent back here earlier in the evening. _Christ… _Jax can't fight the pang of disgust that knifes through him at the thought of just how the sight of the patch openly cheating on his old lady, the run rules, must have made her feel- especially if she's currently carrying his child.

_If._

Such a small word, but holy shit if it doesn't mean the goddamn world right now. He'd been torturing himself with the what ifs all night; even during his time at Tommy's grave, he'd been careful to add the caveat- _if_Tara's pregnant._ If_ he's going to be a father. _If_ every goddamn thing was about to change… but Donna had practically blown all the _if's _straight to hell earlier with her first shot of Jack. And just like that, the desire to know, to be sure, slams into him once again; almost before he realizes it, he's stripping off his t-shirt and hoodie in one fluid mothion, shucking his jeans down his legs and lifting the covers so he can slide in behind her.

Tara barely stirs as the bed dips beneath her; it's his fingers, smoothing a wisp of hair away from a silky cheekbone, that have her eyelids fluttering briefly before stilling again. Jax can't resist pressing closer- hell he's never been able to resist anything when it comes to her- tangling his legs with hers, tucking an arm securely across her midsection to draw her near… Then his palm falls still on the smooth plane of her belly, the only sounds in the room are her soft breaths and his pounding heart, and he can't help but wonder-

"Love you, Jacks'n."

Tara's sleep-drugged whisper is barely audible, barely coherent, but Jax just barely catches himself before he snatches his hand away from her belly as if it had been burned. Instead, he skims his palm upwards, ignoring the still-taut skin there that is exactly as it had been the last time he'd brushed his lips against it. What he _doesn't_ miss, however, is the way she'd used his full name like she always used to- after weeks of hearing _Jax_, feeling that unfamiliar twinge in his chest when she refers to him in the same way the rest of the club does, it burrows its way into his consciousness- and a smile's touching his lips when he finds her hand and draws it up to mouth a kiss on each of her fingers.

"Love you more, Babe." There's a moment's silence- punctuated at its end when Jax swallows, noisily- before he's able to gather the courage to mumble into her ear. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Tara doesn't answer right away; in fact, the wait is long enough, Jax wonders if she'd fallen back asleep. He's about to ignore Gemma's warnings to let her rest and is opening his mouth to ask again when she finally responds in a low murmur.

"It can wait. Jus' hold me, Jackson… please."

Though his heart feels as if it just might burst out of his chest, though the wait until morning might really and truly kill him- Jax can't help but imagine what could be swirling through Tara's mind, what starting this discussion of all discussions on the wrong foot could mean for them. There's not much to be discerned from her voice, all sleep-soft and warm, and in the end, all he finds he can do is oblige her and admit to himself that he's obliging himself, too. He's still holding her tight hours later, when he finally drifts off to sleep with the dawn filtering through the apartment window and their hands clasped over her heart.


	17. Ch 17

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jax isn't sure if it's the roar of bikes in the distance or the sun streaming into the window of the apartment that wakes him- all he knows is that it could be noon and it would still be too fucking early… especially the morning after a party that had included three charters of the Sons of Anarchy; Christ, he's pretty sure they'd emptied everything behind the bar but the grenadine. Closing his eyes once more in a half hearted attempt to both block out the light and re-insert himself into the dream he'd been having- he's pretty sure Tara had been about to take off her top- Jax rolls over, suddenly unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face as he stretches out an arm to pull her into his chest so he can reacquaint himself with all the soft curves and smooth skin he'd been dreaming about. _Ain't nothin' like the real thing-_

Lyrics to some shitty Burger King commercial fade rapidly when Jax's hand touches cool sheets instead of warm skin; his eyes fly open for a second time in minutes and he has to blink a few times to regain focus on what's proving to be the empty spot next to him. He's certain he'd gone to sleep only a few hours ago wrapped around Tara, with his face buried in her silky hair; how the fuck had she managed to extricate herself from his arms and slip out of the bed, unnoticed?

Then, like a fuckin' freight train in the darkness, the events of last night come rushing back- stealing his breath momentarily as Jax relives the dizzying moments after he'd found the positive pregnancy test, the crushing anxiety that had followed, and his eventual moment of truth with himself only to find Tara asleep in the apartment afterwards. And now- _now_, she's God knows where and all of the questions they'd left unanswered seem to be burning their way through the thick layer of determination- determination to be a man, to give her what she needs and deserves- he'd managed to build up in the intervening hours.

"Jax!"

If he'd have been asked yesterday morning, he'd have said that nights he stayed at Tara's, he didn't miss the often less-than-gentle wakeup calls from his future brothers. Today, though, he's almost relieved when the male voice cuts through his thoughts- thankful for the distraction instead of annoyed at the interruption when a series of muted thuds echoes a moment later.

"Jax! Get your ass up and out to the garage!"

Kozik, Jax surmises, pushing up to lean against the headboard, the previous night becoming more and more clear as the sleepy haze he'd been trying to recapture moments ago begins to lift. He swipes a hand down his face a little more vigorously than usual in an attempt to speed its departure and fumbles for his smokes with the other, his fingers seizing instead upon a slip of paper from the nightstand. It's barely in his palm when the pounding on the door sets up again.

"Jesus Christ, I'm comin'!" A pause, thankfully, and then muffled footsteps are retreating down the hallway by the time Jax is able to turn his attention to the paper in his hand.

_Jax-_

His heart rate picks up a bit at the sight of his nickname in Tara's neat script and a fragment of a memory from last night surfaces-Tara murmuring his given name for the first time in a long time, instead of Jax like practically everyone else on the planet- but he pushes it away resolutely and returns to the note.

_I have to check on the clinic this morning since Angela is out of town- I didn't want to wake you, you'd barely gotten any sleep. Don't even roll your eyes, Teller; even when I'm half out of it, I can tell when you're sleeping well and when you're not. Anyway, I hope they let you get some rest- God knows we both needed it. I'm studying for chem with my lab group later, and then I'll be at home. Will I see you tonight? I hope so- I'll page you when I get back so you can call me later.  
_   
_I love you, Baby_

_Tara_

Okay.

Jax pushes out a breath, trying to decide what the fuck, if anything, Tara sounding supremely… _normal_ really means. Quickly, he skims the note again, but there's nothing that remotely addresses everything they'd left unsaid the night before. Nothing about the way she'd kissed him, told him she needed to talk to him. Nothing about the positive test he'd found...

Suddenly, Jax hurdles out of bed, nearly tripping over his pile of discarded clothing on the way to the en-suite. The fluorescent light sets up a buzzing that seems to echo in his skull as he peers into the trash can for a second time in the past twenty four hours.

_Jesus Christ._

It's still there, nestled undisturbed atop the envelopes; still unmistakably, glaringly, positive- even to his untrained eye. Almost reflexively, Jax reaches into the cabinet under the sink for another trash bag, his eyes unerringly fixed on the test as he upends the entire contents of the can into the new bag, sending the white plastic tumbling into the blackness. No sense in some croweater- or worse, his mother- emptying the trash in here and asking a shitload of questions he doesn't have answers to yet.

Ten minutes later, Jax is shuffling across the lot, buttoning his T-W shirt as he squints against the winter sun's relatively blinding glare; the bays are closed on this Sunday morning, but the office door is standing open and that's where he finds Kozik, leaning against the doorframe and talking, quietly, with Gemma. Instantly, his mind is on the black trash bag he'd hastily stuffed into the bigger can out back, as if his mother's somehow been surveilling his furtive movements the past several minutes; moments later, however, he's realizing his focus should have been on his facial expression.

"Morning, Baby" Gemma's murmuring in his ear, before pushing him away to hold him at arm's length, her eyes scanning his face just as they have since he was old enough to remember- searching for the first hint of trouble, the first sign of bullshit. Evidently, she'd found it because her eyes are narrowing even as she opens her mouth to interrogate him. "You alright, sweetheart? 'Cause you look like shit."

"Thanks a lot, Ma," Jax tries to keep his voice light, a smirk on his lips as he steps around his mother to swipe the lighter off the desk. He's midway through lighting his cigarette when she cocks a severe brow at him, propping a hand on her hip as Kozik looks on with interest.

"You didn't answer my question." _Aw shit, she's not going to let this go._

"I'm fine, Mom. Just tired is all." A thought occurs to him and he throws in an eyebrow waggle- maybe grossing her out will get her to drop this. "Didn't get a lot of rest last night, y'know-"

"Don't be an asshole," Gemma retorts, cutting him off before snatching the lighter from his fingers so she can light her own cigarette and exhale her next remark in a cloud of smoke. "I told ya last night Tara needed her rest, what with the way she's been workin' lately- and now you tell me you kept her up half the night? And on top of that, what do I find when I pull onto the lot at seven this morning but little Miss Knowles, struttin' out of the clubhouse to ask Kozy here for a ride home because she didn't want to wake _your _lazy ass up."

_Shit. _They'd ridden over here together, last night- of _course_ she'd had to find a ride back to the clinic- his girl's more dedicated to her job than anyone he knows, maybe even some of his SAMCRO brothers. It makes sense that when he'd been out of commission- due to a night spent agonizing over the various possibilities that had been filling his mind ever since Donna had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't the pregnant one- she'd have slipped away and found someone else to do his fucking job, out of consideration for _him_. The guilt is already gnawing at his gut when another, worse thought strikes him, and Jax is rounding on Kozik before he even realizes it.

"You give Tara a ride, man?" _On the back of your fuckin' bike_, he doesn't add; Christ, is that even safe for her in her condition, let alone for the baby? Jax swallows but it barely goes down, feeling as if his stomach is suddenly somewhere north of his chest at the thought of his own selfishness putting his girl or his baby in danger. But almost before the words are out of his mouth, Kozik's snorting, loudly, his lip curling in sheer frustration.

"This shit again, Jax? I _told _you I ain't interested in your girl-"

"It ain't about that-"

Both are silenced by Gemma, shouldering her way between them and gesturing at each in turn with the cigarette dangling from her fingers.

"Jesus Christ, you two- knock it off!" she hisses, glaring at them like she'd like nothing more than to slap some sense into someone- hell, that's probably _exactly_ what the fuck she's thinking right now. Jax sighs, relenting and sagging against the office door in defeat. He can't tell Kozik exactly why he'd just nearly lost his shit- especially with Gemma's eagle eye trained on him, assessing his reactions to every damn thing- and he can't come up with shit else to say, so he merely shrugs, tosses Kozik an apologetic half-smile, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Sorry... Guys have been pushin' up on her since I was sixteen, and I've been pushin' 'em the other direction just as long; guess it's a hard habit to break." Kozik looks at him strangely, but Gemma just blusters on- thankfully more concerned with giving him a piece of her mind than dissecting his every word.

"_I_ gave her a ride, Jackson- not that it shouldn't have been you. And not that that girl needs to devote any more of her weekends to that damn vet clinic-"

"Mom-" Gemma holds up a manicured finger and despite himself, Jax swallows the rest of his protest as Kozik winces- Jesus, is that a note of sympathy on his face- and beats a hasty retreat out the office door.

"I _said _I'd stop givin' my opinion on this shit when it isn't asked for- and I keep my word." Jax can't stop the snort that escapes him at that remark, and Gemma rolls her eyes. "Just listen and stop being such a shit head. It was clear last night that the girl's exhausted- she needs _somethin' _in her life besides school and watchin' some vet snip doggie balls; what's worse, this is the first night _you've_ spent over here since a couple a weeks after she got her own place." She pauses to pick up a manila file, but steals a furtive look at Jax as she shuffles through the papers inside. _Jesus Christ..._

"What're you gettin' at, Ma?" He replies, finally, playing her game.

"So make sure your ass is here more often, evenings- it's what's expected of you, sweetheart, as a prospect and as John Teller's son. And bring Tara; get her out of the house a little bit, let her be around some real people-her_ family_\- for a change."

_Real people?_ Jax nearly snorts, again, at the thought of what his mother probably considers _real people._

"Yeah, yeah. You planning on cuttin' her some slack, then? She's been workin' like a damn croweater every time we've set foot in the clubhouse lately."

"_Watch_ it," Gemma warns, her eyes narrowing even as she reaches for the half-full ashtray to stub out her cigarette. Jax does the same immediately after she sets it back down- he really only lit the damn thing as a distraction anyway- and the half-burnt cig smolders away in the ashtray, sending smoke curling between them. "She's been good for you, Jackson- kept you grounded when probably nobody else could have. Hell, I've always known that, really- she's the only reason half of Charming ain't beating down my front door, wondering why their daughters are heartbroken, pregnant, or both-" Jax flinches as his mother hits a little too close to his current truth, "-but what that girl needs is family, and she's got that with SAMCRO. With _us_. She keeps up this half in and half out shit and it's gonna start comin' between you."

"A'ight, Ma," is all Jax can find the energy to say in return- wary, by now, of just how his mother can be when it comes to the club. To hear his father tell it, she'd put in nearly as much work as he had when they'd first come to Charming, and both of them know Gemma Madock had left her own fucked-up household and had only truly regained any semblance of family when she'd become a mother- _the _Mother- in the truest sense of the word. Hell, she'd been mothering them all- Jax, Tommy, Piney, Bobby, Otto both Little and Big, Lenny, Chibs, Kozik, Tig and all the rest- like they were her own little band of Lost Boys since the late seventies. Christ, he can't decide if she's going to absolutely lose her shit at the eventual revelation that Tara's pregnant, or secretly be happy she's tied to him forever, that they've started their own new branch of the SAMCRO family.

_No, that's probably what _you're_ thinking… asshole._

Jesus, he's not sure he wants to think about what that means about himself.

Gemma's kissing him on the cheek- evidently finally satisfied she'd gotten her point across- when JT strides into the office and abruptly steps between them, sending his son a wink.

"Got some of that for me, Darlin'?" His father's playful smirk deepens when Gemma grips him by his goateed chin and presses a kiss to his lips; laughing, he grabs her around the waist and proceeds to make Jax thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Jesus, guys-"

"Oh, give it a rest, Son," JT counters mildly, planting one more smacking kiss on his wife before turning to his son, his eyes twinkling. "In fact, I'd hope you'd do the same for _your_ old lady before a run."

"Actually-" Gemma starts, again resting a hand on her hip, but JT leans in for another kiss, effectively shutting her up. _Thank God._

"That's all gonna have to wait, Gem. I filled Koz and Bobby in already on my way in here, but Jax and I got to get rollin'."

_Huh?_

As if he knows exactly what his son is thinking- Christ, at this point he probably _does_\- JT grips Jax by the shoulder, jostling him firmly, his expression effectively somber as he surveys him carefully before explaining.

"Got word from Piney about an hour ago- you and I are headed up North to meet Hap, Chibs and the others." _Oh..._

And suddenly, the _other _happenings of last night surface in Jax's mind- Piney and Ope's mission to secure proof of the Cameron's involvement in the deaths of Maureen and McGee, the vote that had cemented his conditional death sentence- buried as they'd been by the other things that had become much more important. His mind races, trying to seize on any stray details of today's events that he happens to recall, to find something- a_nything_\- to say in reply to his father, who's evidently of the impression Jax had been following along closely during Church last night.

"Cameron's car was a match to that paint on Maureen's?" _Bingo._ JT's lips thin, his face turning grim as he nods briskly. And that can lead to only one possible outcome, one reason to head up North in search of Happy, et al. "They got ahold of the guy, then?"

"Yup," JT confirms, steadily, scratching his beard. "He's secured and locked down- I was s'posed to call that new cell phone Bobby insisted on the club gettin'- give 'em word to carry things out the way we planned, but now somethin's come up." _This can't be good._

"Brewster, he's on his way back to Fresno already but Gibbs, the Rogue River Pres… well, he decided he had some shit to say to our friend before he's, uh, dispatched. Took off about a half hour ago, headin' to the shed." _The shed_\- Jax doesn't know a whole lot of details yet, regarding the Sons' business dealings, but he knows the shed's the location up north where the club periodically stores whatever it needs to keep out of the purview of the law… evidently, that means its enemies, too.

"So what's that mean for SAMCRO?" If JT's surprised Jax is suddenly so businesslike, so blase about a subject that's had him twisted up for weeks- months, even- he doesn't say so, just leans against the doorframe and shrugs.

"We'd agreed to let Hap and them handle this for us- its their job as each club's Sergeant-at-Arms... but this changes shit. I got an obligation now to show my face as President of the mother charter- make sure Gibbs doesn't get himself into some shit he'll regret later- and that's what I'm gonna do. I also got to send someone over to the safe house, now instead of goin' myself- deal with a little bit of cleanup over there- so I got Bobby and Koz headed that way since Ope and Piney are still on the road." He raises an eyebrow, suddenly, looking Jax dead in the eye. "That means you're headed up North with me, cause we-"

"-don't ride alone; yeah, I got it Dad." JT nods, slowly, seeming to assess Jax once again before asking his next question.

"This ain't somethin' I planned on askin' of you- I figured you and I were done with Cameron Hayes' ass as of last night- but it's what makes sense. Give you a little more experience standin' guard, it'll come in handy once our other business gets into full swing next month." He clears his throat, raises his chin to fix dark eyes on Jax's own before asking the question Jax had been asking himself for a good few months, now.

"Can you handle this, Son?"

"No problem." Jax hopes his voice sounds as confident as he feels, for once. He's not sure which of his recent resolutions- to grow the fuck up, to be the man Tara and his baby need, to be the man the club needs- had been the game-changer… Christ, it had surprised even him. But something had shifted in him some time last night, and he'll be damned if he's going to let any of them down. Evidently, his father sees evidence of that shift in his eyes, because suddenly, he's in motion once again.

"A'ight. Well, get your shit- we got to go. Now." His father jerking his thumb towards the row of bikes and dropping another kiss on Gemma's cheek before half-jogging across the lot startles Gemma and surprises Jax into moving towards the door himself- but Gemma's grasping his wrist before he can follow on JT's heels.

"I'm so proud of you, baby."

Somehow, his mother's pleased smile as she pats him on the cheek doesn't surprise him at all.

* * *

It's been a good hour since they'd arrived at the shed- which, as it turns out, isn't really a shed at all but more of a barn, really- a large, graying-wood structure complete with rolling doors and actual fucking hay bales outside; it looms in a clearing surrounded by dense woods, greens ranging nearly all the way to black between the slender trunks. To the outsider, it looks like exactly the type of place that would house a couple of cows and maybe a horse or two- instead of whatever contraband shit Jax is sure it's been home to over the years.

They'd made pretty good time, catching up with Gibbs just outside of Redding; he'd simply nodded at them and fallen into place behind JT, leaving Jax to return to the thoughts that had flooded his consciousness for a good eighteen hours or more. Thoughts that continued for the remaining hours of the journey as they left the highway to wind down county roads and then back roads that barely merited pavement until Jax was no longer sure whether they were in California or Oregon. Thoughts that lingered even as the landscape changed- arid fields falling away to be replaced by dense thatches of trees, rolling hills giving way to mountains, his fear giving way to something new he couldn't quite define.

Even now, Jax can't quite put his finger on what it is, exactly, that seems to be curling its way into his chest; whatever it is, though, it has him alternately short of breath as he thinks of Tara on the back of a bike, working hard and studying harder to the point of exhaustion… and biting back an actual fucking smile as the image of her round with his child grows clearer and clearer. Really, though, he's not sure if he's more thankful JT had dragged him up here and given him something to distract him- however briefly- from the implications of his impending fatherhood (not that it's entirely working)... or that he's got thoughts of Tara to take his mind off whatever the fuck is going on inside the shed.

They'd arrived to find Chibs slouched against the front grille of the van- keeping watch and smoking what appeared to be the most recent of a great many cigarettes judging by the butts that littered the gravel at his feet; the Rogue River Pres had ignored them all completely, just swung his leg over his bike and stalked right past Chibs and towards the side door. JT had had no choice but to follow, but he hadn't even had time to say word one before Jax had peeled back his kutte to reveal his shoulder holster, reassuring his father he'd stand watch. The mild surprise on JT's part was but a momentary flicker; then, he'd beckoned for Chibs to follow, leaving Jax with nothing more than a warning to_ "keep an eye on them trees, Son."_

Jax checks his pager for probably the hundredth time since they'd arrived- still nothing from Tara- then sighs and reaches into his chest pocket for his cigarettes. Extracting one, herolls it between finger and thumb, his focus shifting from the cigarette to the winding gravel road at the edge of the clearing, then to the treeline. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, his mind again turns to Tara; the persistent thought that she's somewhere out there, going about her day- studying, checking on the animals at the clinic, puttering about her apartment, reading- all while carrying their baby… Jax finds himself unable to stop either the smile that's slowly curving his lips or the nagging thought that she needs him near her now more than ever.

Christ, maybe it had been his own personal come-to-Jesus meeting he'd held last night in the cemetery, or maybe it was the time he'd spent later, curled around Tara- her gentle breaths and occasional soft murmurs indicate that she, at least, was having pleasant dreams- content and peaceful with his arms around her despite everything else, if even for a moment. But whatever the reason, the numbing shock, the crippling fear… they're gone- both replaced by something he can only describe as warmth, spreading through him at the thought of Tara with her head bowed over a baby girl with her mossy eyes, or holding the hand of a chubby toddler that looks like him.

Hell, maybe it's even better termed as instinct- to keep her near, to protect her, protect _them_. If he's being honest with himself, as much as he loves his SAMCRO family (and how could he not with Gemma's constant reminders that what they have is special), he knows he'd survive losing contact with even his favorite brothers- Ope, Chibs, even Koz- if it means keeping Tara by his side; but he'd never forgive himself if he ever truly pulled the ultimate dumbshit move and somehow let her- her _and _his future family- slip away forever.

He'd asked her, not long ago, what forever really meant to her- what the end-game was, so to speak. The whole thing had led to him pouring out his heart, his every thought and insecurity- including his eventual plans to marry her, keep her with him always. She'd done him one better, as usual, and promised him all that and more- a home, a real family with just the two of them, followed by the children she'd apparently been imagining with him for some time. It had all come with the warning that there was still a lot of road left to travel before any of it could happen: she wanted to finish school, go to med school, become a doctor, start a family, in that order- and he'd been fine with doing what he has to do to make that happen, even if it meant leaving SAMCRO for another charter. He'll fucking do it, too- so long as he gets to remain a Son, sit at a table even if it isn't his father's, wear a kutte even if it doesn't have a Redwood Original patch. He'll find his way back to Charming someday; her dreams don't have to mean the end of his own, just a delay in them- and he'd been more than happy to suggest a compromise if it means he gets to keep the most beautiful girl in the world and the best person he knows at his side through it all.

Still, seeing Tara nervous yet happy, exhausted yet loving even before she'd had the opportunity to tell him the news… it makes him feel a little (okay, a lot) more at ease with what's to become of their plan to stay together.

She'll still finish school, even if he has to convince JT to convert the T-W office into a fucking daycare; after all, she's still got at least the spring semester and then one full year left at CCC. And then- Jax's smile kicks up again at the thought- the baby would be a handful if he remembers Tommy at that age correctly. Maybe wherever he and Tara land, one of the other old ladies could watch him- or her- while Tara's in school; Or _maybe_…

Maybe sticking around Charming for at least a couple of years makes more sense; shit, Tara could work at the clinic a couple years and maybe even go to nursing school while they wait for everything to settle. By then, he'd be earning with SAMCRO and sitting at the Reaper table, Gemma would practically be tripping over herself to watch the baby… and the move to some unknown college town smack dab in the middle of some SOA charter Jax has probably never even heard of could be pushed just a little further into the not-so-distant future.

Even as the guilt gnaws at the edges of his little stay-in-Charming-forever fantasy, Jax can't help but smile at the thought of their kids running around the clubhouse the way he and Ope and Tara had when they were kids. And he and Ope at the head of the table, one or both serving alongside JT and Piney… that shit's been in the books since they were kids too- and it's one reason he still hasn't filled his best friend in on the entirety of his plan to keep Tara in his life. Still, it appears shit might be changing now- or delayed, or altered, or what-have-you- and one thing's for certain: he loves his girl more than he'd ever thought possible. He's also increasingly sure that while he'd have never considered letting her go before, staying together may have just gotten a whole lot easier, by necessity. He's just not sure what kind of person it makes him that he's hoping things fall into place that way- besides the luckiest bastard on the face of this Earth.

"'Aye, Jackie Boy." Jax about jumps out of his skin, dropping his cigarette as Chibs chuckles, hoarsely; he's stooping to pick it up when JT and Gibbs, too, exit the shed. His father looks no worse for the wear, but Gibbs is fairly pale, his face stark in the rapidly pooling moonlight in the clearing. Christ, when had it gotten so dark?

"Alright, Jackson- we're done here. Anything to report?"

"Uh… not really." God, he'd probably been a shitty watchman- add one more thing to the ever-growing list of shit he wants, no, _needs_, to improve about himself before he hangs that Reaper and top rocker on his back: stop getting lost in your own goddamn head. JT, however, seems satisfied.

"Good; Chibs, back the van up to the rolling doors and you guys are good to head out once you're loaded. Gibbs- you good to ride?" The Rogue River President- looking a little better, now, nods, briskly, as if still convincing himself he's alright. "Once your Sergeant-at-Arms is ready, y'all can head back north with Cameron's cage. We'll go ahead and take off south, now- we'll be less conspicuous if we leave separately." Marching orders received, everyone else is moving away from them and toward their next duty by the time JT's seated on his bike and clipping on his helmet- the same, dented brown contraption that half resembles an Army-issue battle helmet he'd been wearing since Jax can remember. And suddenly, Jax realizes just how much shit his father puts up with for the good of his club.

He'd been trying to move them away from gun-running, had kept them out of drugs, had done his best to stem the tide of the bloody violence that had plagued SAMCRO the past couple of decades, and he'd been successful. And now, he'd had to swallow it all to fulfill the club's own code of ethics, regardless of personal principle. Hell, even Jax knows how long the Cameron incident would have been tied up in court- if it even fucking made it there, since Fresno PD seemed unconcerned about a couple of Irish criminals murdered in their own backyard- and if nobody else was going to mete out justice, it may as well be the Sons. JT did so unflinchingly, without the conflict Jax so often saw in his eyes on other occasions… and Jax finds himself longing to be more like his father for the first time in a long time.

"Let's ride, Son."

* * *

Nearly forty-five minutes pass before they even happen upon a stop sign in the blackness, the winding road eventually giving way to a more serviceable county blacktop. This appears to be lit no better than the first, though the trees that had previously tangled their branches overhead have now receded to the point that at least the rapidly shrinking moon lights their way. Curve left, than right- a short straightaway, then a gentle slope south- and the bouncing red glow of his father's bike is beginning to blur as Jax's eyelids grow heavy; he'd heard of tunnel vision before, but never experienced it to this degree before tonight, where everything but the road in front of him just fades away.

Then, like a goddamn lighthouse beacon for lost sailors, the I-5 South sign glimmers ahead- it's a minute or so before they're actually close enough to read it, but Jax squints in an attempt to force the gleaming white letters to make sense; _sixty-three miles_. Jax almost groans to himself- they're not even anywhere close to the fucking interstate yet. All he wants- more than anything, maybe even more than his patch at this moment in particular- is to lay eyes on Tara, or at least know she's made it home alright. He imagines her as she probably is now at this late hour on a Sunday night: curled on her side of the bed he'd found her- the bed that had become their bed. Jax smiles a bit at the thought- she always leaves his side open, even if she's not expecting him back from a run, always sleeps with one leg hitched up when she falls asleep before him. He'd slide in behind her and she'd turn in his arms and whisper the words she'd been holding onto for over twenty-four hours now; _Jackson-_

It's then that JT makes an abrupt turn away from the interstate and westward, leaving Jax to follow along in his wake, confused; maybe JT had thought it best to take back roads towards home. He considers pulling alongside his father, maybe try to motion for him to stop so he can figure out where the fuck they're going, but then JT signals another turn. Two more turns follow, to the south and back to the west, and lead them bumping down an unfamiliar gravel pathway much like the one that had led them to the shed several hours ago.

At the path's end is a cabin,not unlike the one SAMCRO keeps just outside Charming; its similar in size, but this one's log instead of stone and obviously hasn't had Gemma and a gaggle of croweaters to keep the place in shape. The place looks deserted but Jax can't help but reach inside his kutte as he slows to a halt behind his father; can't help but keep it there even as JT shuts off the ignition and climbs off his bike, giving Jax a small shake of the head when he notices.

"It's alright, Son- this is a safe place," JT chuckles, starting up the dirt path towards the peeling front door. Somewhat reluctantly, Jax follows, not bothering to unclip his helmet, unsure how long they'd be staying. "We still got an hour's ride towards the 5, then another three-plus back home- I figured we could both use some sleep; didn't get much of it last night, if I recall."

"I'm fine, Dad." _And I am,_ Jax's heart chimes in, angrily. Christ, all he wants to do is get back to his girl, have a real damn conversation with her that isn't at the clubhouse, while either of them are fast asleep, or-

"Y'know, Jackson, you keep sayin' that. _I'm fine_. And you might be fine with Cameron Hayes meetin' Mr. Mayhem- like you told me last night- because I didn't even have to tell ya twice to stay outside earlier today. But_ somethin's_ been goin' on in that head of yours, and today's the first day you haven't acted like you were gonna take someone's goddamn head off…" JT trails off, reaching above the front door, running a hand along the frame until he comes away with a small metal key.

"I was just hopin' to get back to Tara tonight, that's all," Jax explains, feebly, as they enter the cabin. It's surprisingly cozy despite its external appearance, and JT moves to flick on the single overhead light.

"Well, it's-" he consults his watch- "one AM now. We'd be rollin' into Charming about four thirty at the earliest. I know you love her, Son, and I know you two try to spend as much time together as possible when you don't have club and school shit goin' on, but-"

"It ain't that," Jax sighs. "Just tell me there's a phone here someplace so I can call her and let her know I won't be back."

"I ever tell ya Piney and I lived up here a few months? Right after we got back from 'Nam," JT muses, inching further into the room and acting as if he hadn't even heard Jax's question. Jax shakes his head, half-listening as his eyes scan the side tables for signs of a handset. "Didn't have shit up here then- no phone, no TV; Christ, the place barely had running water to speak of- it was cold as fuck when it decided to come out and made this god-awful noise…" JT trails off, chuckling. "We chose this place _because_ of that, to tell ya the truth- nobody tellin' us what to do, where to go… but it got lonely after a while and the nearest bar was two towns over. One of the guys that's a Eureka patch now- he took it over, made all sorts of improvements, but SAMCRO still uses it from time to time if we need it."

What _Jax_ needs is for JT to stop fucking talking and tell him where the goddamn phone is.

"Christ, Dad- the phone?" JT's brow wrinkles as he studies his son, evidently finding something there that concerns him, looking like he's got questions… but he merely jerks his head towards a small room on the left before settling onto the dusty floral couch with a grunt.

"Kitchen."

_Jesus, it's about time…_ Jax tosses what he hopes is a grateful look towards his old man- which isn't enough to erase the calculating look on his face, apparently- and heads into the kitchen. It's more of a galley, really- a long, narrow space populated by an ancient formica countertop lined with a host of cigar tins and not much else. The phone is an old school rotary affair, and he's forced to wait impatiently as the dial returns to the resting position each time- and then still longer as the ring sounds in his ear again and again. He counts twelve rings before the automated operator informs him that if he'd like to make a call, to _please hang up and try again_. Frustrated, he flips down the receiver, and tries again- maybe she's sleeping, though the thought of waking her up actually makes him cringe.

After the third such attempt, Jax violently slams the handset onto the receiver to pace the narrow kitchen; why had they never thought to get Tara an answering machine? Worse… she hadn't paged him, either. He also can't believe she'd sleep through her phone ringing off the hook- on the rare occasions he winds up flat on his back and snoring in the middle of the night, she inevitably stirs from her spot in his arms to either poke at his sides or plug his nose until he stops, sputtering with laughter. But what if she really is that exhausted that she hadn't heard it, or is somewhere in the apartment, unable to get to the phone; worse, what if something had happened on the way home from her study group, what if she'd gotten into an accident, or been attacked or-

"Jackson-" JT's voice interrupts the stream of worst-case-scenarios; he's leaning against the doorframe, watching Jax pace in the tiny kitchen and shaking his head. "What the hell's goin' on?"

"She didn't answer," Jax replies, shortly, "It's just got me thinkin'..." He doesn't finish the sentence as his father heaves a sigh.

"Thinkin' what, Son? Tara loves you, there ain't no way she's got someone else-"

"Jesus Christ, Dad, I wasn't… I mean, I know that. _Fuck_." The mere suggestion has his blood boiling, but he knows she'd never do _that_.

"What, then? She's probably just sleepin'- it's one in the morning and you saw how worn out she is with school and work and everything. We'll be home tomorrow noon at the latest, you can tell her what happened then."

"I know, I'm… She's…" Frustrated, Jax rakes both hands through his hair, unsure how to proceed, how much of what he's feeling is pure frustration, how much is of legitimate concern regarding the whereabouts of his pregnant girlfriend, and how much is fuckin' irrational as hell.

"She's _what, _Son?" Jax closes his eyes for a long moment, trying to regain some semblance of composure even though he'd already half lost his shit- so long that his father tries again, less patiently this time. "Jackson-"

"_Tara's pregnant_," he bites out, pushing past JT to the main room of the cabin so he can sit uneasily on the edge of the couch and rest his elbows on his knees, his lips on tented fingers. Jesus, that hadn't been the way he'd imagined telling his father he was soon to be a grandparent- actually, he hadn't even imagined actually telling anyone yet, had barely managed to stop panicking about the whole thing himself… but the point remains.

"How long have you known?" JT's suddenly beside him, lowering himself into the armchair that flanks the couch; he rests a bracing hand on his son's shoulder as he surveys him somberly, his voice soft as Jax has ever heard it. "And how'd she tell you?"

"Since last night. But that's just it, Dad- she _didn't _tell me." At JT's brow knits in confusion Jax sighs again. "I found the positive test in the apartment last night right before Church, that's what had me all twisted up. I- I'm sorry about that, by the way. I just…" JT waves him off with a shrug, so Jax clears his throat and continues, slowly. "I went out to Tommy's grave after Church, when you told me to go take a ride- it's where I think shit through, or write, or whatever when I need to be alone. But when I got back, well-"

"She was already asleep," JT finishes, realization dawning on his features. "And this morning-"

"She went to work early- said she didn't want to wake me."

"And you're sure it's hers? Couldn't've been someone else's test?"

"Nobody else even has a key 'cept you and me, Ma, and Tara- definitely not somethin' any of us would just hand off to some croweater or random old lady, either. Besides, it was sittin' right on top of those college letters she'd gotten in the mail-"

"The ones that showed up at the clubhouse that day- I had your Ma put 'em in the apartment." Reality seems to be setting in as Jax watches JT connect the same dots he had over the past day or so; well, now it's time for the kicker.

"I thought for a minute it might be Donna's or somethin'- she's the only other one that made sense- but then I watched her drink a quarter of a bottle of whiskey with Ope, so…" JTs jaw works, momentarily- tightening even as he strokes his beard thoughtfully. Then-

"Sounds like you two got some things to discuss, Son- might explain some of the shit that your Ma's been on about, too, Tara bein' so worn out and all…" He regards Jax carefully. "Assumin' it's true, how you holdin' up, Jackson?"

Christ, had his father asked him this very question this time last night, his response would've been a goddamn shitshow. But today- today's been a whole different story. As it is, he's still trying to tamp down the admittedly half-rational worry that had surfaced when Tara had failed to answer the phone minutes ago, but he's come a long damn way since he'd found that test.

"Pretty goddamn good- like I said, I was twisted up about it last night, but I… I've loved her since I was sixteen, Dad. This was happenin' for us either way- just a little sooner than I thought." Jax finds himself unable, once again, to suppress the self-indulgent smile that appears at the corner of his lips at the thoughts that swamp his mind- this time, of a chubby toddler launching himself into JT's lap. His father, too, is displaying the faintest hints of a grin- shit, he's probably thinking the same thing. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the smile slides away and JT's demeanor grows stern.

"I know I told ya about your Ma and I, how much easier things would've gone for us if we'd waited-"

"I-"

"Just let me finish. I know it ain't gonna do anyone any good to ride your ass about this now, Son, but I've been tellin' ya since she came back to think real hard about how you and her handle things, movin' forward. Tara…" JT hesitates, as if unsure he wants to say whatever it is he's got to say next. "She's like your Ma in some ways- stubborn, driven, smarter than I am- than _any_ of us, really… but she's different from Gem, too. She ain't the type to be content, Jackson- to be comfortable in anyone's shadow- even yours… but she's a giver, too. She'll give and give until she's got nothin' left, and it's gonna be up to you to make sure you ain't takin' too much."

"So my advice-" _Not that I asked for any_, Jax can't help thinking, "-is the same as it has been since the first time we had this conversation- make sure you do what you can to support her- to have her back whether it's a baby or whatever's comin' after that. And don't let her get so caught up in givin' to others- you, the baby- that she misses out on doin' what's best for her. You think you can do that?"

Jax just nods, mutely; once again, his father's zeroed in on exactly what he's been thinking and pressed hard on his most sensitive spot, the two parts of him that are at war- his need to do right by his girl, and the knowledge that he wouldn't argue for a moment if she suggested staying in Charming. Still, he rationalizes, making some changes that make sense is a move that benefits their family… and he doubts Tara would argue that for even a minute.

"You think you're ready to be a father?" JT's dead fucking serious, Jax can see that… but he can't stop the snort emanating from him any more than he can the word vomit that comes after it.

"_Fuck _no. I mean, I've had a day to get used to this and I ain't freaked out, or ready to run, or angry, or any of that shit; it's somethin' I never realized I wanted until it happened, I guess…" Jax's voice trails off as the now-familiar smile- the one that makes him feel like he's got a secret to share- takes up residence on his lips again.

"But that don't mean you feel like you're ready," JT finishes, with his own knowing grin.

"Exactly."

"I don't think any of us are, to be honest with ya, Son. It's some life-changing shit, and we're good and clueless until we just…" JT raises his hands, helplessly, lets them fall at his sides once again, "I dunno; _figure it out._ But I think they know that, women- they know we're learnin' as we go, and they cut us a little slack until we know what's what. Gem… I think she was ready to do it all herself, you know? Hell, I probably surprised the hell outta her when I proposed-" JT fixes him with a stern glare, "-not that I'm sayin' that's what _you _should do, at least before the two of you are good and ready."

Jax lets that particular topic slide for the moment, focusing instead on the other part of what his father had just said.

"How'd Mom tell you she was pregnant?" He watches as JT's eyes soften, grow distant as he considers that moment over nineteen years ago.

"We were in the back room of this little dive bar we'd met in- a bunch of us were shootin' pool, just bullshittin'- but I was happy just sippin' whiskey and havin' her with me, ya know? She'd just come off a shift, so while the rest of us were about three sheets to the wind, she was dead-ass sober." JT chuckles, seemingly to himself. "'Course, that was for more reason than one, as I found out... She was sittin' in my lap, whisperin' in my ear- lyrics to the song that was on the jukebox, I think, that Neil Young tune about how rock n roll can never die. And in the middle of it, she just stopped. Looked at me with that look she's got- you know, the one where she's fixin' her mouth to tell you somethin' for your own good that you might not like, but she's only really tellin' you anyway so she can get a read on your reaction to it." Christ, Jax knows that look better than practically anyone- he swears half the interactions he has with his mother involve her releasing some carefully calculated tidbit of information just to get a handle on his mindset.

"And then she just dropped it on me, told me she like she was darin' me to argue with her when she said she was keepin' the baby- keepin' _you_\- just darin' me to lose my shit and say somethin' stupid. I almost did, really; I was scared shitless and probably have been ever since, if you want to know the truth of it- so I did the only thing I could think of to keep my mouth from sayin' some shit that could get me in trouble… I kissed her." JT shoots him a sheepish smile, running a hand over his beard before leaning in, conspiratorially.

"And then I hauled her back to the shitty little motel room I'd been livin' in and… well, we didn't come out for about two days. Had Piney, Clay, Lenny- Christ, _everyone_, really- practically beatin' down the door. Gem even got shit-canned because she didn't show for two shifts in a row... but we didn't care. By the time we came out again, we were engaged and there wasn't a goddamn soul in the world who was gonna tell us what to do." JT clears his throat, grips Jax's knee and gives it a squeeze. "Best day of my life, Son- even though I was probably even more terrified than you are right now." Jax can only laugh, weakly.

"I think I'm over the scared-shitless part- at least until it finally sets in that I'm actually gonna be a father…" Shit, there it is- unease creeping up the back of his throat again- though he isn't sure whether it's due to his impending fatherhood or to the fact that Tara's MIA in the middle of the goddamn night. JT nods, knowingly.

"Try not to read too much into the fat she hasn't told you yet, Jackson. If this is still new to her- and I'm guessin' it is- she's got even more to get sorted than you do."

"I know, I just- the waitin' is startin' to get to me, y'know?"

"I can imagine, but you gotta swallow it, for her- let her get her thoughts together, tell you on her own time. Forcin' the conversation before she's got her mind wrapped around things ain't good for either of you. Now-" JT stands, stretches a bit. "I'm gonna see if I can get ahold of _Grandma_."

Jax is halfway off the couch in alarm by the time JT busts out laughing. _Jesus Christ…_

"Settle down, Son, I won't tell her- that's for you and Tara to do... and good luck to ya with all that." He's still chuckling when he reaches the kitchen door and tosses back over a leather-clad shoulder- "Now try and get a few hours, will ya? You might just have a big day, tomorrow."

* * *

The sun's nearly directly overhead when they roll into Charming, glinting off the glass of several storefronts on Main Street and serving to make Jax kick himself for the umpteenth time today that he'd left his sunglasses back at the clubhouse. JT peels off on Third, headed home, and Jax finds himself slowing to a halt in front of Charming Drug, needing a cigarette or three to calm his nerves; having had no alarm clock besides his old man to wake him up at the Eureka cabin this morning, he'd overslept and missed his chance to catch Tara in her apartment before she left. Of course, he'd called anyway- more than once, and had tried the clinic too- but had had to give up when JT announced he was ready to head back; as a result, it's been nearly thirty-six hours since he'd seen or heard from her, and he can't shake the feeling that something's off.

The bell tinkles as Jax enters and the two employees in the tiny store both raise their heads in greeting- the honey-blonde cashier he's pretty sure he'd gone to high school with and the much older pharmacist that had probably been filling prescriptions since the dawn of time. For some reason unknown to him, he bypasses the front counter that hosts the cigarettes and chewing tobacco and drifts down an aisle at random, taking in the shelves piled with goods, grazing the odd item with a finger. His mouth quirks a bit at a diaper display- Christ, how the hell's he going to get out of changing hundreds, maybe even thousands, of those things over the course of a lifetime- then sobers as he rounds a corner only to be faced by what he suddenly realizes was his destination in the first place.

Pregnancy tests- Jesus, he'd never realized there were so many kinds. Fancy-looking digital ones, others that look like a goddamn chemistry experiment- and still others that look nearly identical to the one he'd found in the trash can. He's standing there, feeling a bit like someone rubbernecking a fuckin' car wreck, when the pharmacist appears at the end of the aisle, clearing his throat and eying Jax's kutte uneasily, his gaze steely. _Calm down, old man…_

"Is there something I can help you with, young man?" _Young man_\- with the mostly filled-in chin scruff, kutte, wallet chain and general hoodlum appearance, it had been a long-ass time since someone had referred to him in the diminutive. Still, Jax shifts nervously, the other question that had been burning into him since this morning bubbling past his lips almost before he realizes it.

"These things usually pretty accurate? I mean, if one of 'em turns up positive is it a sure thing?" The man's eyes soften, and he gestures towards the display as he answers.

"Some of them are a little harder to use than others, but the type you just uh, hold in the line of fire, so to speak? They're pretty near impossible to mess up, son." _Shit, is this good news or bad?_ Jax finds, as he pushes out the breath he'd been holding, that he's got no goddamn clue. He merely nods, briskly, turning away from the pharmacist just as the older man offers- "If you got someone in your life that might be pregnant, son, best to have her come in as soon as possible, find out-'

"Thanks, but she's got that all taken care of," Jax tosses over his shoulder, now eager to get his cigarettes and get the fuck out.

The blonde behind the counter's got a flirtatious little smile for him as he approaches, but she's eyeing him with an interest that goes beyond the surface, somehow. Briefly, he tries to recall if she'd been in his class or the one below- anything about her at all, really- but settles for flashing her the Teller grin, even though his mind's on just about anything other than flirting with this girl. She bites her lip and returns it readily, giving him a chance to read her name tag and jog his memory a bit.

"Hey, Louise." Her cheeks tint with a blush- Christ, since he'd finished school, he'd almost forgotten how easy it was to charm his way onto the good side of most everyone with a pair of tits. Niceties completed, he nods at the wall of tobacco behind her. "Get a pack of smokes, darlin'?" Waiting, he peruses the last-chance knick knacks near the register; strawberry chapstick- he smiles, Tara's favorite- lighters, gum… and then his gaze falls on a stack of books.

They're heftier than most- the kind you read babies and little kids, he guesses, based on the thick, glossy, cardboard pages- and the title is one he recognizes instantly as one of Tommy's favorites. _The Poky Little Puppy_, all about a puppy that's slower than the rest and as such, eventually misses dessert- and it's clear instantly why it might have been a favorite of his brother's, who was forever having to take it easy, miss out on the fun shit Jax and his friends were always up to. Though he's pretty sure he could recite the beginning, at least, word for word, Jax picks up the book and pages through it, the familiar illustrations reigniting the real smile on his lips.

"It's one of my favorites." Jax barely registers Louise's comment, just hands her the book, already imagining he and Tara curled up in that big comfy chair of hers, sharing Tommy's story with their baby. Maybe it would be a favorite of his son's, too; _or your daughter's_, the part of him that knows exactly what Tara would have to say about making assumptions at this stage of the game warns. Grinning- more to himself than Louise or anyone, for that matter- he waves off the bag she offers and tucks both book and cigarettes into his interior kutte pocket. Time to go find his girl.

The Cutlass is in its spot, nestled up against the shed behind the clinic, and Jax slows to a stop next to it before cutting the engine and glancing up at the dark windows of the garage apartment. God, he'd love nothing more than to climb those stairs, take Tara by the hand, lead her to bed for about four days- and only emerge when they've got everything figured out. Hell, apparently JT would approve. But it's a Monday, which means Tara's supposed to be over at the clinic and his chances of getting much beyond a quick kiss and a _how was the run_ over a turkey sandwich is about nil.

And so Jax tells himself as he jogs across the clinic's backyard, half-desperate and half-eager to see her, even as he bounds up the two or three porch steps leading to the main door. He's seriously questioning his sanity by the time he's inside, a bit breathless and suddenly realizing he's never wanted- no, _needed_\- anything quite so much as he needs to lay eyes (and hands) on her right at this moment. The secretary- Christ, he can never remember her name- has a timid grin for him as he closes the old wooden and lead-glass door behind him.

"Tara's upstairs," she offers, without hia even having to ask; the upstairs of the old house-turned-veterinary-clinic consists of a couple rooms meant for storage, and a kitchen the few employees use for lunch breaks, and he's instantly grinning- first in silent thanks to the secretary, who he walks right past on his way to see the most beautiful girl ever… and then in anticipation of stalking into the kitchen and pulling her into his arms. More than anything, now that he knows she's okay, he wants to fit her against him, bury his face in her hair, and just breathe her in. He knows what a pussy-whipped jackass that probably makes him- Tig, Bobby, hell probably even Ope and Koz at this point- would be sure to tell him what, exactly, they thought of a guy that's this lost without seeing his girl for just over a day… and he doesn't give a fuck. God, he hopes she's alone.

Jax takes the narrow, creaky stairs two at a time- just like he used to at Grandpa Nate's as a kid- and is just fixing his mouth to call her name when he reaches the landing and possibly what's one of the most terrifying sights he's ever witnessed. Tara's up here alone, alright- clad in olive green scrubs that would have given him pause any other time- but she's balanced precariously on the top riser of a stepladder a few feet in from the top of the stairs. Worse, she's clutching a box twice the size of her head and lifting it into the small attic crawl space above. Visions of her losing her balance and tumbling headfirst down the steep old staircase assault him even as new ones form on their heels- her in a widening circle of murky blood, mourning a baby before she'd even had the chance to tell him of its existence- and it takes everything in him not to shout her name (Christ, then she really would fall off the damn ladder). The box in place, she begins to climb down, catching sight of him about two steps in; he misses the way her eyes light up at the sight of him because his singular focus is getting her off the goddamn ladder and safely into his arms.

"Jax!" Her shriek cuts through dim hallway as he lifts her beneath the arms, gently swinging her down from the ladder so he can pull her to him; it's only when she's finally back where she belongs and her arms have tightened around him that he realizes he's been breathing a litany of _Jesus Christs_ and God only knows what else into her ear. The faint fragrance of mint shampoo combined with that essence of her he's never quite been able to define drifts into his nostrils as his hand leaves her waist so he can bury his fingers in her hair; it's dizzying, all of a sudden, in its intensity- this overwhelming feeling of relief now that she's in his arms once again- and something just snaps within him. Desperate to get a taste of her, he drags his lips from her ear, grazing the baby-soft skin of her cheek, and finally, _finally _fuses his lips to hers in an attempt to pour out everything he can't say.

* * *

Tara's still a little in shock that Jax is here in the middle of the day- hell, her stomach's still swooping from the combined effects of being lifted off that ladder like some sort of swing dancer and being pulled immediately into his arms- so she can excuse herself for failing to immediately put together exactly what it was he'd been murmuring under his breath. She _definitely_ can't blame herself for succumbing to the drugging sensation of his fingers raking- gently, somehow- across her scalp, the heat of his breath whispering over her cheek, or the goddamn scent of him altogether, all winter wind and cigarettes and leather. And even a blind woman would surely forgive herself for shutting out any and everything but the way he takes her mouth like a starving man, nibbling on her lower lip until she's gripping his kutte and groaning into his mouth, reveling in the needy-hot pleasure he stirs within her.

It's only as Jax pulls back a bit, his eyes still a little frantic as they search hers, that she realizes he's clutching at her like he'd just yanked her from the arms of some nefarious criminal- only when the breath he releases is shaky with relief that his words come back to her.

_Jesus Christ, Babe, what were you thinking? You could've hurt yourself, or worse… And you can't just disappear on me, not now… not with everything that's…_

Jax's fragments of thought, punctuated by the brush of his lips against her ear, had simply not registered at the time, but now… _Now_, they have her drawing back, her heart rate tripping up an extra few beats at the sudden influx of possibilities flooding her mind- each more unnerving than the next.

"What's happening, Jax? What's wrong?" _Is he in danger? Is she?_ He shakes his ,head slightly, drops his forehead to hers before muttering, almost as if to himself-

"You can't..._ Christ_, Tara, you could've been hurt."

"Hurt? Wh-"

"The damn ladder, Babe- one wrong move and you could've been at the bottom of those stairs. You scared the shit out of me…" Jax's voice fades, his lips thin in what Tara instantly recognizes as the look he gets when he's at a loss for words- and frustrated as hell about it. Normally, she'd wait him out, let him gather his thoughts, but dammit… it's been a long day already, preceded by a long weekend, and she just doesn't have the energy to do this right now- figure out what, exactly, has him this worked up.

"Jesus, Jax, I put the old files into attic storage every four weeks, when we-"

"It ain't just that, Tara, its-" Jax raises his head then, his anxiety palpable as he drags both hands down his face; she can pinpoint the moment when he makes the decision to speak, to say whatever it is that's on his mind. "Where were you last night? You never paged but I still called- a shitload of times, actually- and you weren't there in the middle of the damn night- "

"I was there, right after my study group- I waited until almost midnight for you to call, but I had to be here at seven, so…" Then, it dawns on her what he's really saying, why he'd be this upset, and she drops his hands, shaking her head slowly. "You can't think I'd- what the _fuck_, Jax? What about me has ever made you even _consider_ the fact that I'd - and with the way your club-" the word practically falls out of her mouth in disgust as the memory of the Fresno patch with the blonde croweater in his lap surfaces, unwanted- "The way your club treats women? We talked about this, so just what the hell makes you think I'd do something like that to you?"

On some level, even though she's shaking as she takes another step back, putting more distance between them, Tara realizes her voice has become louder. She's pretty sure its higher pitched, too, with every word, notices the flash of… _something_ (hurt? indignation?) in Jax's eyes. What escapes her, though, is the fact that she's actually still at work- though it's the lunch hour and the clinic's closed- and she's waiting for Jax's response and growing more and more angry when Dr. Carlson appears behind him on the stairs, an apologetic half-smile gracing her lips. Christ, how loud had she been? More importantly, how much had Angela heard?

"Um… why don't you go ahead and take lunch, Tara? We don't have anything major scheduled this afternoon and you can go right ahead to your class-"

"I'm fine, thank you, though-" Tara tries to keep her voice as even as it had been moments ago, even though she's now feeling as if she'd enjoy it very much if the floor could just open up and swallow her whole. What the hell is he thinking, bringing this shit into her workplace like this? Pushing down the hurt and anger, she tries for cold steel as she cuts her eyes to her infuriating boyfriend, himself. "Jax was just leaving."

"Dammit, Tara-" To her surprise, he's got the audacity to look hurt, a little desperate- and Angela glances at him only briefly before approaching them both to place a hand on Tara's shoulder; her kind smile belying the true intent behind the gesture.

"We've got things covered here- it's a light day. Go, I'll see you tomorrow morning" she urges, gently; and reluctantly, Tara nods and turns towards the kitchen to grab her backpack and jacket, ignoring Angela's sympathetic expression as well as Jax, who seems to be some strange mixture of angry and regretful.

_Good._

She lets him hurry down the stairs after her, through the office and reception area- she'd sooner die than meet Lindsay the receptionist's eyes- and then out the clinic door. Thankfully, he waits until they're fully outside before calling after her, though she doesn't slow her breakneck pace at all.

"Tara, just listen a minute-"

Of _course-_ she needs to stop and listen... Well, they're not having this conversation in the middle of the fucking yard, where anyone and their brother can hear; she snorts at the thought- his _brothers_ included.

"Tara!"

Tara halts halfway up the wooden steps to the garage apartment, whirling, finally, to glare at him.

"We already had the first half of this conversation at my work, Jax, in front of my_ boss_, who is the only person in my life that can help me get a halfway decent scholarship," she hisses as he draws to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. "So excuse me if I'd rather finish having it out_ inside_, where she and the rest of fucking Charming can't hear whatever else you're accusing me of." She doesn't give him time to answer, just continues up the stairs and pushes through the apartment door, not bothering to close it behind her.

Tara's stripping off her scrub top to change for class, leaving only the tank underneath, when the realization that this is finals week finally hits her- there's no class for her to get to, no out for her to take until tomorrow morning… And as the door clicks shut somewhere behind her, she closes her eyes, mentally battens down the hatches for an argument the likes of which they haven't had since Jax had last suggested she get the SAMCRO crow tattooed on her.

"I know you weren't with someone else, Tara. This… this ain't about that."

His voice is low- strained, but calm- and not at all what she'd expected; some of the anger, the drum-tight tension seems to drain from the hands she drops at her sides though she's still clutching the scrub top, dripping from her fingertips as if she'd been holding it there, squeezing her anger tight in a fist in preparation for a battle that never came.

Then, he's behind her- Tara can feel him there, has had this sort of sixth sense for his presence since they were kids, usually when he was struggling with something he couldn't put words to; young Tara would have turned and taken his hand, soothed him into telling her what was on his mind. With Jax the Prospect, however… well, things aren't as simple; there's always something he's holding back, something he can't- or won't- tell her.

His hand rests on her arm- gentle despite its size, slender fingers juxtaposing with his father's thick brass rings and the wide span of his palm the way she'd often thought of Jax himself- much more than he seems, and much more than he lets on. He doesn't squeeze, doesn't spin her to face him as he would if they were up here under much different circumstances, just applies the slightest bit of pressure to coax her into turning to face him.

Jax's expression is one of concern, his blue eyes once again flitting over her as if to reassure himself that she's still here, still with him- and again, it isn't what she'd expected. Hell, this would all be easier if he were angry with her; as little as they've fought, as seldom as they've argued- somehow, she's got a feeling whatever this is would be easier solved if he were angry, jealous, or one of any of the tens of things she knows what to do with. But his eyes are swirling with worry, love- but at the same time, they're shuttered, like he's keeping himself under control, keeping a part of himself from her. Why the hell does he do that; God knows, she loves him most when they're lost in each other, when he bares his soul to her whether he realizes it or not. And all of a sudden, her frustration's back.

"What the _hell_, Jax?" Tara whispers, tears stinging her eyes- _dammit, not now, Knowles…_ "You can't just-"

"Just listen… please." It isn't a request, but his voice isn't forceful, either- just quietly determined, and she waves him on, raising her eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to stem the flow of the stupid angry tears that seem to make an unwelcome appearance every damn time she's upset.

"When I called last night and you didn't answer… I never once thought that you were out with someone else. You're just not that kind of person, Babe, I _know_ that- it's one of the things I love about you. I just… you _always_ answer, or page me when it's been a while... _somethin_'; and I'd missed every chance I'd had to be with you for like two days…" He releases her, then, to run his hands through his hair- one of the many tells she'd learned over years of knowing him that he was frustrated, at a loss.

"I dunno, Babe; I was away, not able to see you, touch you, or even help you if somethin' was wrong and it just all seemed to pile up, y'know? I just got to thinkin' about all those what ifs- what if you'd gotten in an accident on the way home from study group? What if someone had-" His adam's apple bobs as he swallows, forgoing the rest of that sentence. "And then I got to the clinic and there you were, about to break your goddamn neck on that fuckin' ladder…" Jax shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets in yet another tell- he does that when he's nervous or hiding something, not telling the whole truth. Jesus, lately he's _always_fucking hiding something.

"I didn't answer because I was_ asleep_, Jax; you know, when you called in the middle of the goddamn night because like I told you before, I _waited _for you to call. All I knew was that you had business with JT- the same day Opie had business with Piney- and the rest of the club was buzzing around like flies, the other two charters were in town… _something_ was going on, and like usual, I didn't know_ shit._" Jax fixes his mouth to say some shit about club business- Jesus, she already_ knows_ that's what he's going to say- and Tara finds she just can't listen to it again.

"I know, Baby, I know- club business. I don't get to know what's going on unless club business gets so serious you're riding all the way back down here so you can lose your shit on me at work because I slept through a damn phone call. So you can yank me off a goddamn ladder because you're so worried I'm suddenly going to lose my balance. So tell me- what _club business_ is it this time? Because there's more to this, Jax, I _know_ there is; and before you answer me, consider the fact that every time you ride off with SAMCRO to do God knows what, _I'm_ left here to worry about _your_ stubborn ass!"

"Goddammit, Tara… I love you and I don't know what the fuck I'd do if something ever happened to you, or-" Jax stops, abruptly- his hands are out of his pockets again, and he almost looks as if he doesn't know what to do with them- until he seems to come to some sort of decision. One step is all it takes his long legs to reach her, then he's pulling the shirt from her fingers and letting it slip to the floor, guiding her against him with his other hand so he can drop his lips to the crown of her head. And she lets him, despite everything; because she knows this conversation can't end well- won't end at all, really, so long as the club is a part of his life- and because everything just seems so much simpler when Jax is holding her like this.

Tara's wondering just how healthy it is to need someone this much, unsure just which of them is more sane when it comes to the other, when she finally threads her arms inside his kutte and around his waist so she can rest her head on his chest- God, he smells good. The familiar notebook in his interior kutte pocket bumps along her arm in the process, and she can't help but hide a sly smile against his t-shirt at the thought of him, mad at her and writing furiously. So, just as quickly as she'd leaned against him, she's pulling back- snaking her hand into his pocket to retrieve the notebook- bent on teasing him a little, asking why he can't just take his frustrations out on the paper instead of marching into the clinic and acting like her goddamn father.

Except it isn't one of his notepads, Tara realizes the moment her fingers close around it, but it's already in her hand and resting against his stomach before he even realizes what she's done. It's a children's book- a baby's book, really, since this one is the thicker, cardboard type- one her mother used to read her at bedtime before she'd grown to love falling asleep reading on her own. There's a moment of strange nostalgia before the real question hits her- why is Jax carrying a baby book around in his pocket?

A glance upward and into those blue eyes reveals nothing- except, she thinks, a glimmer of guilt; and as it grows- as he bites his lip almost as if in an attempt to stop himself from saying whatever it is that's on his mind- so does a faint realization, simmering somewhere deep in her belly.

"Jax?" is all she says before he's closing his eyes, releasing his lip along with the stream of words that changes the direction this conversation's going entirely.

"I found it, Tara- the pregnancy test. Saturday night in the apartment. That's why seein' you up on that ladder had me so worked up. If somethin' happened..."

_Oh, God…_

"I didn't want to say anything- mostly because I didn't want to say anything stupid, but also because I wanted you to be able to tell me when you were ready. I- I didn't want to ruin this for you... for _us_."

It's like her mouth is moving, but nothing will come out- Christ she doesn't even know what she'd say if she _could_ speak.

"That's-" Jax looks away, then, but just briefly- then its as if his eyes lock with hers, burning into her,pleading with her to understand- and Tara couldn't look away if she wanted to. "That's why I was so twisted up that night, it didn't have anything to do with the club; they took care of Cameron yesterday. That night though… I didn't- I don't- even give a fuck about that anymore because all I could think about was that test, what it all meant for us. But it forced me to do it, Tara- finally get my shit together, pull myself out of the bullshit that's had me trapped in my own head since Rogue River." He places a finger beneath her chin, tipping it up so he can drop his forehead to hers.

"I ain't foolin' myself that I did it on my own, though. _You're_ the reason I got through it, Babe, you never turned your back on me, and now it's my turn to stand by you." Jax reaches blindly for her free hand and brings it to his lips to press a soft kiss there, then places it on his chest where she can feel it thrumming steadily while her own feels as if its about to beat its way out of her chest. He's _sure_ about this, then, at peace with the decision he's made- the decision to put her before himself- and Tara wonders, desperately, how it's possible to love someone this much and still feel like your heart is breaking.

"Jax, I don't know what-" Jax shakes his head insistently, silencing her with a searing kiss.

"We got this, Babe. Right now I'm just a Prospect- just an okay mechanic with a high school diploma- but all we need is each other and the rest will work itself out. I ain't sayin' I'm not scared shitless but I'll get the hang of it, figure out how to be a father- for _us_." That word- _father_\- once spoken aloud with all of his sincerity, all the promise he puts behind it… Jesus, it may as well have been hammered straight into her chest; the thought of Jackson Teller, holding their baby, their son or daughter… _Oh, God, it's too much._

"You're not listening, Jackson- I… I don't know how to…" _Jesus, why is this so hard?_ "I'm not having a baby, I can't-"

"You _can_, Tara, we'll make it work. Gemma can help us, you _know_ she will, or we can find one of those daycare places. Maybe you take some time off school, or maybe we wait for me to transfer, stay here in Charming for a while-"

_"It wasn't my test!"_

Jax's stunned silence, the instant flash of pain in his eyes that seems to slice right through Tara's heart, the way he blinks slowly- once, twice, as if to delay the reality behind her words- has her regretting the harsh words even as they leave her lips. Her hand, still clutched in his, still on his heart, curls inward, pressing the pads of her fingers into the warm skin covering the part of him she's just cut to the quick.

"How?"

His voice is hoarse, throaty, as if they really had just had the shouting match she'd anticipated when she'd stormed in here such a short time ago. It's a simple question, really- how? Tara just wishes there were a simple answer.

"All I can tell you is what I know: the test was Donna's- she'd missed her period and I guess she told Opie Saturday morning before you all went to see Otto. Hell, I didn't even know, then. But when you got back and we met at the clubhouse, she pulled me aside to tell me what had been going on and I unlocked the apartment for her because its at least private back there, you know?" Jax nods, swallowing thickly, and looks away; watching him struggle, the ache in Tara's chest spreads further. "We stayed long enough to read the results, she did a little dance when it was negative, and then Gemma needed us so I guess she just tossed it in the trash and that was it." God, she needs him to look at her- she rests her free hand on his cheek, stroking both the smooth skin and the wiry hairs at his jaw, even as he turns back to her and frowns, troubled.

"It was positive, though, Tara- I may be just a dumb biker, but I know two lines from one when I see 'em. And then she was shootin' whiskey later and I thought-"

"I don't know, Baby," she murmurs, miserably. Then, a memory surfaces, something she'd read during the seemingly endless wait for the test to develop; Donna had been giving her shit about reading the pamphlet that came in the box- said nobody ever actually _read _the instructions since you just had to pee on the damn stick- and Tara had just rolled her eyes, thorough to a fault.

_Do not read a negative test result after ten minutes has elapsed- a false reading may occur when too much fluid has been absorbed by the test strip.  
_  
Jesus, it had been insignificant then, but _now_…

"The box…" she mutters, under her breath, leading Jax to raise his chin in askance. "The box said the test could show inaccurate results after ten minutes. When did-"

"Right before Church, after I'd followed you to the back. You'd already gone back out to help Gemma..."

The set of Jax's jaw as his voice fades tells her he's confirmed what she'd suspected- he'd seen the test a matter of hours later- who knows what it had read, then. Not that it matters, anyway, since Donna had stopped by not an hour ago after confirming things with her doctor… No, what matters now is that Jax is suddenly unable to look at her, how the handsome lines of his face had twisted when she'd transformed him from a surprisingly eager prospective father to a man who's lost a baby that never even existed with four simple words.

_It wasn't my test._

As he kisses her, almost absently, her heart begins to hurt for herself as well as for him; when he pulls away, still avoiding her eyes, and gives her a false smile that barely curves his lips, she can feel him moving further and further from her in more ways than one. And when he tells her he's going for a ride, that he'll be back when he's got his head on straight…

Tara wonders, for the first time, whether they'll survive this- hell, _each other_\- in one piece.


	18. Ch 18

****I own nothing you recognize. Also, i** **t's been a while, and I'm so sorry! If you need, a brief reread of the last section of Ch 17 might be helpful to cue you in on Tara's state of mind here.****

Tara half-wakens to Jax's soft touch in the middle of the night; his fingers brush against her forehead as they smooth a lock of hair to the side, lingering on her cheekbone just long enough to draw her another inch towards consciousness. She's missed his touch- that much, her sleepy brain knows even as she struggles to force it to send the necessary signals to open her eyes- but she just can't seem to manage it and instead lets Jax's warmth seep into her skin and heal some ache she can't quite identify in her current state. It's another moment before his breath heats her lips, hovering just shy of touching her for a long moment while she's caught somewhere between dreams and lucidity. Then, a mere brush of his lips against her own is all she has time to register fully before he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

_God, did I fall asleep waiting for him? Did he come to bed at all?_

These questions and more pick up speed and begin to race through Tara's mind as somehow, the residual hollow in her chest expands, radiating in waves until it seems to well up underneath the hand that rests on her belly. Even as she struggles awake, the sheer longing for him that fills her shortly thereafter spreads until her eyes adjust to the clock on her- his- shelf. _5:02 AM _glares back at her in red, the digits glowing just inside her eyelids even after she slams them shut again. Groaning, Tara rolls over and into the slight dip still in the mattress-the space Jax had recently left- to bury her nose into his pillow and let the familiar scent of him bring her slowly back to the present.

It's early morning, Tara realizes now- not the middle of the night- and Jax hadn't just come in from a long ride designed to hide just how badly he'd reacted to the news that she wasn't pregnant. No, that had been weeks ago- months, actually- and here she is, still, stuck in the aftermath of one monumental misunderstanding that had changed everything.

_Everything_ really isn't the right term, she supposes; on the surface, very little had changed. She's still taking a full schedule of classes over at Charming Community, still working her ass off to maintain a 4.0- though this semester's slate of classes had proven a fair bit more challenging than her first. She's still assisting when she can over at the vet clinic and overseeing the residual patients on the weekends and evenings Angela can't be there; still coming home to a quiet, empty apartment and waking up with a start most nights with Jax's naked limbs intertwined with her own.

As for Jax… he's still a Prospect, though that's likely going to change tonight after tonight's club vote- once he and Opie patch in after what's seemed to Tara to be years of of grunt work, broken promises, and too many midnight farewells. He's still been out, most nights of the week, god-knows-where until god-knows-when with the men that will become his brothers in all but name- still rough housing with Ope, joking with Chibs and trading barbs with Tig; still absorbing his father's tutelage and his mother's- well… Above all, though, on the surface he's still the same Jax in everyone else's eyes- dedicated to his club and his family, handsomely cocksure, and above all secure at long last in his role as the Prince of Charming.

And she loves him, despite all his layers, his jagged edges and his complications- hell, _because_ of them- has known it for sure since she was fifteen and probably on some level for years before. It's because she loves him that she knows now how the many facets of him have always been in near-constant battle; his maddening reticence is tempered by moments of raw honesty; innate loyalty to his club family butts heads with the seemingly bone-deep pull the two of them have towards each other. It's almost as if Jax has always been two people- one with the club, and one with her, and maybe his parents and half-sister as well. But in the past- even through that whole mess with the Irishman- she'd been able to almost feel both the unrest and the exhilaration as it stirred in his heart; hell, she'd practically watched the storm gathering in his eyes as he took wordless solace in her embrace, even though he'd kept her in the dark about it's cause. Now, though…

_Now,_ it's almost as if he- _they_\- exist in some sort of alternate reality where there are neither joy nor troubles, maintaining the status quo because to do otherwise would upset their delicate balance. And_ balancing_, Tara realizes for the umpteenth time in the past few months, is exactly what it feels like they've been doing- standing in place, going nowhere and fast, just trying to find a way to avoid the goddamn elephant in the room. It's just that lately, she sometimes feels as if the proverbial elephant is sitting on her chest- pressing her into the ancient plastic chairs over at CCC, constricting her lungs as she shuffles through the scholarship inquiries she's found neither the nerve nor the heart to approach Jax with, and practically holding her shoulder blades to the mattress at times like these when she wakes up without him yet again.

Tara sighs, realizing that sleep obviously isn't in the cards anymore this morning; it never is when she allows herself to really think about Jax and the shift that had begun that day in this very apartment. Worse still are the times she'd allowed herself to truly consider the confession that had immediately preceded it- maybe the last truly honest words he'd spoken to her outside this bed; Jax had looked her dead in the eye and told her he knew he was going to be a father, sure in his conviction that he was ready for what was to come.

_You never turned your back on me, and now it's my turn to stand by you._

He'd been so somber, so insistent- almost pleading with her to let him step up and stand by her side- and the kicker is… that's all she'd ever wanted besides his heart, SAMCRO be damned. And now Tara's clutching the thin fabric at the chest of her nightgown before she even realizes it, the phantom weight underneath that's been near-constant these past months joined, now, by an ache that isn't unfamiliar either.

She hadn't had the chance to fucking _talk_ to him that day, to get him to trulylisten to what she was saying before he'd ridden off to think things through on his own, as shocked as she was at the time by the revelation that Jax had thought she was pregnant and had not only grown to accept the idea but _cherish_ it. She hadn't had the chance to tell him she was sorry, or that it had hurt her too; hadn't been able to tell him that watching him come to the realization he wasn't going to be a father had been like watching someone twist a blade into his heart… and that it felt like it had somehow managed to dig its way into her own until she'd wanted to clutch at him and beg his forgiveness.

She snorts, humorlessly, thinking idly for the hundredth time how ridiculous it all was, now that she's months removed from that moment; forgiveness- _for not being pregnant_, for being a fellow victim in a misunderstanding that was practically a comedy of errors by the time it reached her. If only Jax had _said _something- asked her about what he'd found before he'd allowed himself to build it up into what it had become- they'd both have probably chuckled in relief; hell, maybe they'd have even shared in the promise they'd made each other some months ago- that one day, it would all be real… and at the _right_ time.

Only, Jax had had a couple days to adjust to the news he'd thought he'd received, and instead of shutting down and floundering under the sudden pressure he'd found himself under- or maybe despite it- he'd come to a decision to step up. _Christ, _he'd embraced it- even tried to comfort her and reassure her that they'd be okay if she did the same. He'd been willing to be a father and ready to tie himself to her in that way forever; and after the sheer shock had worn off- after he'd fixed serious eyes on her before turning and walking out of the apartment, well before she'd heard the Dyna fire up, and off and on for the few months since- she'd found herself wishing it had all been real.

Not for the first time since, Tara closes her eyes and allows herself to imagine where they'd be right now if he'd been right. She'd be- what? About six or seven months pregnant by now? On the verge of being seriously uncomfortable, for sure, and probably aware whether the little one in her belly was a boy or a girl. And Jax… he'd still be a Prospect and about to patch in; more importantly, though, Tara knows somehow that he'd have been everything she'd have needed- the same Jax he'd always been, with his protective heart and beautiful soul.

Something about the determined glint in his eye that day had stuck with her, had both convinced her he'd be a good father and spawned fleeting fantasies about what might have been had she confirmed his assumptions: they'd have gotten excited together, talked in hushed tones about how to tell JT, Gemma, and even Rick they were about to be grandparents… They'd have made love- celebrating the bond that had been so strong, so sure, that it had been unable to be contained to just the two of them any longer… And perhaps the most persistent image had been that of Jax's warm palm on the bare skin of her belly- of him smiling when it trembled above their baby's fluttering kicks and pressing soft kisses there in response-

Tara's eyes fly open, her hand freezing almost guiltily on her belly where she's become accustomed to finding it lingering during times like this- times where she'd allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy of something that had never been.

_Jesus Christ… pull yourself together._

It's time to stop this way of thinking before she catches herself going too far down the road, to that place where she's imagining a downy blonde head and eyes that look like hers. This isn't helping anything, especially not herself. Even Jax- who'd been, frankly speaking, crushed in the moment by the realization that the baby was nothing more than a figment of his imagination- has resolutely been trying to move on, starting with when he'd returned late that same evening without a word.

She'd been awake, still, unable to sleep with the events of that night filling her head, but something had stopped her from speaking when he'd entered the apartment. That same something had caused her to go still, watch as he carelessly tossed his kutte on a kitchen chair, toed off his sneakers, and then stripped his clothes off almost methodically. Hoodie, t-shirt, jeans, socks- she could almost see them in a pile on the floor even in the darkness, but she didn't dare move for reasons she can't explain even now. Sure, she'd been anxious to set everything right but hadn't had a clue how to go about it, nearly breathless in anticipation of the familiar feel of Jax's arms enfolding her. It would all come to the surface and set itself right when _she _felt right, Tara had reassured herself- and that could only happen when she was safe in his arms.

Except that moment never came.

Jax had lain motionless for what seemed an interminable amount of time- his shallow breaths assuring her that he was, in fact, awake- but every moment that went by without his touch had drained more and more of her nerve; every minute that had passed made rolling over and pressing herself into his side seem like less of an option, what with the hurt and frustration building up in her own heart. In the end, she hadn't trusted herself not to remind him that he'd built all this up in his own head, that if he'd just fucking_ talked_ to her… She couldn't- _wouldn't_\- rub salt in his open wounds, yet couldn't bring herself to ask forgiveness, either- not for something that she'd been blindsided by as well. As a result, she'd fallen into a troubled sleep only to wake up a few short hours later in an empty bed.

And so, they'd proceeded- that night becoming merely the first in a stream of others nearly just like it; nights he'd come to bed after her- sometimes careful not to touch or stir her, sometimes letting an arm rest gently against hers, the contact sending warmth and longing radiating through her. As always, though, his presence could raise the fine hairs on her neck and send warming prickles up her spine- rousing her just enough to find comfort in the fact he was back, relieved he was there and safe.

There, they'd settle- each in their own space on the bed, drifting off to sleep without speaking and hardly even touching… until one or both inevitably woke, tangled in each other's embrace like they'd always slept, just like nothing had ever happened. Sometimes, she'd slip from underneath Jax first to quickly dress and head to the clinic to keep her promise to Dr. Carlson, taking one last glance at his strong arms still seeming to reach for her, even in sleep, then closing the door behind her before she gave in completely and buried herself in him. Sometimes, like today, Jax would be gone before she was fully awake, leaving the chasm that seemed to have opened up between them yawning wider and wider. And sometimes- that night a few days later, in particular- they'd find themselves drifting back to consciousness together in the middle of the night, wrapped around each other as if letting go would be so much more than physical.

_They'd gone to bed hours apart- probably few feet apart as well- but Tara woke to Jax's arms tucked firmly around her, as if their hearts had conspired to navigate them across the seemingly endless no man's land in the middle of the bed even as they slept. Her eyes drifted open to find Jax's still closed, thick lashes smudging his cheekbones, lips parted slightly even as the breaths that escaped them quickened, a bit._

_She'd heard the term aching with desire- Christ, she'd always laughed at the thought of a heroine in a book aching to be near her love… but she'd never really understood until recently how her very bones could hurt with longing as she restrained her fingers from skimming along his strong jaw, or how her lips would throb from being pressed between her teeth to prevent herself from lowering them to his bare chest. But as always when she woke up folded in his arms, she ached, quite literally, to touch him in return- to be consumed by him and let everything else fall away. That wasn't what they needed, though- to let sex become their only connection or touch a temporary fix-_

_"Tara…"_

_And just like that, the moment her name crossed his lips, she was no longer alone with her thoughts. It was all he said, his eyes fluttering open to meet hers, pupils adjusting to the dark as the blue surrounding them seemed to shift in the shadows. It was all he_

had_ to say, really, when they were like this- so close it was almost as if they were breathing the same air; so connected, nothing else- not even the words that had been simmering, unspoken, beneath the surface- mattered. Nothing existed but Jackson, the desire darkening his eyes a welcome change from the hurt that had clouded them that day in the apartment, or the forced, thin facade of normalcy that had graced them every day since... and somehow, she could tell the reverse was true for him, too._

_Jax's eyes seemed to search hers for a moment, perhaps looking to see if she had the willpower to stop him- the same which had been diminishing, steadily, since he'd spoken her name- and his hand left the small of her back and drifted up slowly to rest on her cheek. The simple touch- tender where everything else between them had been rigid, reverent when those during the day had been almost polite- made her eyelids lose their mooring, so that she couldn't see his expression. She could only hear him whisper her name a second time, so close his breath mingled with hers, could only feel his thumb brush across her lower lip as if asking permission._

_And then he was everywhere, every_thing_, as he buried his hands in her hair and crushed her lips with his, forcing all coherent thought from her mind and replacing it with _him_. That last, wispy part of her that tried to insist that this wasn't what they needed, this isn't how they repaired the fractured pieces that had gathered between them, turned away and gave into the ache, the need to be with him like she had been since before she was sixteen. He rolled over her, somehow without tearing his lips away, and somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she was grateful he wasn't giving them the chance to come to their senses._

_Her nightgown was disappearing into the darkness before she'd even realized it was gone, Jax was pressing suckling kisses against her collarbone before she could slip her hands from his shoulders to push his boxers over his hips, and his hand was leaving her hair to tug her panties down her legs before she could think- but just as well. And when he surged upwards to settle against her, left the damp trail he'd been marking across her heartbeat to drop his forehead to hers, her vision narrowed on the blue of his eyes until she could almost see the words stirring somewhere in their depths, reviving the latent thoughts she'd thought had flown away with their clothing._

_Why can't you just talk to me?_

_Why can't I just tell you what's on my heart?_

_This isn't a solution._

_Neither of us have earned this._

_And then she was reclaiming his mouth, kissing him almost harshly, gripping his hips in an attempt to urge him to help her drive the last dregs of the noise away. He groaned into her mouth, almost in agreement- as if he, too, was desperate to hold onto this closeness they hadn't managed to achieve during their waking hours. And as he pushed into her with a shuddering breath and set a torturous, rocking rhythm that carried them past the doubts and into the freefall of pleasure, only one voice remained._

_But this is the only thing that feels right._

It's what she had told herself time and again over the past few months- sometimes as their breaths settled, still pressed close in the middle of the bed, sometimes half-conscious as they drifted back to sleep in each other's arms- but most frequently after she woke alone hours later with his kisses still fairly burning through her flesh and into her psyche. It's the only part of them that's felt right for a matter of weeks or more, and instead of pushing it away like they've done everything else, they've both seemed to cling to the physical expression of the love she knows at the most fundamental level that they still share. And when everything is off, Tara rationalizes for perhaps the hundredth time, who could blame them for insisting on hanging onto something that isn't?

Groaning, Tara pushes against the mattress, changing direction last minute and sliding out of the bed on Jax's side instead of her own. Maybe it's different over here, she thinks irrationally- maybe his perspective, his thoughts, will become clearer if she sits where he sits every morning… She looks back over her shoulder at the dent in her pillow; maybe she can see him how he sees her, if she just looks hard enough.

Just then, the old clock radio blares, the beginning strains of some Cranberries song that had been popular when she'd moved back to Charming effectively snapping her back into reality. Christ, had she really been wallowing in angst for an hour?

Tara grits her teeth as she heaves herself off Jax's side of the bed and heads to the bathroom in a last-ditch attempt to drown the urge to drop back into his pillow and sleep until it's all over… _Nope. Fuck that. _Overthinking is definitely a patented Tara Knowles move, but letting emotion take over? That's always been Jax's realm. And while she's got to admit that they both get caught up in the _what if'_s, she's always been the one to take a step back and let logic prevail.

Grimly, Tara pushes aside the sneaking suspicion that it's her reluctance to begin a conversation that could leave her vulnerable that's led directly to their current situation, and shoves the toothbrush in her mouth, staring down the green-eyed girl in the mirror. _Now's not the time for distractions, Knowles_; not with finals coming up once again, and definitely not with Jax facing the one of the most important things that would probably ever happen to him, tonight. He'd been ready to stand by her and support her no matter what, and he deserves the same in return, regardless of what she or anyone else might wish were in his future.

And so, as Tara finishes her morning routine and shuffles to the dresser to extract the first of her two uniforms for the day- a set of olive green scrubs with a pawprint embroidered on the pocket- it's with a feeling of resignation that wouldn't have felt familiar six months ago. Christ, she loves her job- at least she used to- but lately it seems as though the air in Charming had begun to close in around her just as it had when she'd first returned year ago with nothing to look forward to, and nobody to lean on. Since then, of course, she'd found a family in Donna, Opie, JT, Gemma, Trinity and SAMCRO itself and had all but immersed herself in Jax Teller; he'd been her saving grace back then and in the years between, but now…

_Now,_ the distance between them is creeping into her, filling the cracks left behind by so many things left unsaid until her every thought, her every move, is tinted with him. And out of nowhere, a snippet of a confrontation she'd had with David Hale what seems like ages ago, slips into her mind as if it were yesterday.

"_He's either gonna drag you down with him, let you get sucked into this town and play at being one of his croweaters until one of you winds up in jail or worse… or you'll leave and he'll do what they all do."_

David had been pissed off, then; upset at Jax, trying to provoke him into a fight- which had worked- and had been cruel to Tara for the first time ever, truly ending their friendship. He'd apologized a few months later, though they hadn't seen each other since graduation and she'd always assumed further conversations with him were out of the question… but had he really been completely wrong? Jax loves her, of that she has no doubt, but it's been no secret lately that to Tara, at least, the club family doesn't come without strings

Gingerly, she extracts the evening's uniform from a plastic bag and places it on the bed next to the scrubs; the skintight, strategically ripped black jeans and some strappy contraption she can't tell heads nor tails of seem to stare back at her defiantly, almost as Gemma had done the night before at the tail end of what had previously been a fairly pleasant dinner at the Teller home.

"_Thanks for dinner, Gem- the thought of tuna and crackers again wasn't appealing in the slightest," Tara moaned, almost uncomfortably full but content. Gemma waved off the comment, but Trinity's nose wrinkled as she licked the last few crumbs of apple pie off her fork._

_"Gross… Ma always fixed tinned fish when we had to keep the store open late- I hated it so much." Gemma's cheek dented as she bit the inside and raised an eyebrow, and at that moment, Tara knew she was biting back some comment or other about Maureen's cooking; she couldn't help the knowing grin that curved the edges of her lips any more than Gemma could the snort that came next._

_"Well, darlin', now you're as American as apple pie." Luckily, Trinity missed the slight jab, too busy beaming as Gemma pointed at the perfectly golden confection in the middle of her dining room table._

_"Aye, that I am," she began, pausing, confused, when Tara and Gemma dissolved into laughter. "What is it? What did I say?" Not bothering to point out the girl's immediate slip back into her lilting Irish brogue, Tara squeezed her arm._

_"Nothing, Trini. You're perfect." After the smile had once again dimpled her quasi-little-sister's freckled cheeks, Tara stood, a bit reluctantly. The evening had truly been a surprisingly nice escape from the quiet of the apartment- especially since Jax was off somewhere with the club for the third night in a row. The thought of being alone all evening with her thoughts about what was happening between them had had her quickly accepting Gemma's invitation to dinner, but now that dinner was over, it almost seemed as if her problems were looming somewhere in the dark apartment, waiting. She'd managed to keep busy all week between extra hours at the clinic and the times Gemma had asked her to run errands for the patch-in party… but keeping busy often meant missing the study hours that were so crucial this late in the semester._

_Tara reached for her dishes, intent on clearing the table and then making an early escape- until Gemma laid a cool hand on her arm, effectively stopping all motion._

_"Trinity, would you mind clearin' the table? If I'm not mistaken, Tara's got some studyin' to do and I need to have a chat with her before she makes her escape."_

_Trinity nodded, already shooting to her feet to do as Gemma had asked, but Tara couldn't help hugging the girl into her side and pressing a brief kiss to the crown of her head._

"_See you tomorrow at the party, alright?"_

"_Aye, Da said I could watch 'em say whether Jackson an' Opie were in the club or not, and stay until the food was gone."_

_"Thank goodness- I'll need someone to hang out with when the boys are out having their first ride," she whispered, loudly, prompting a small smile from Gemma as Trinity pulled away, grinning._

_"Love you, Tara," came the reply a few moments later- tossed over Trinity's shoulder on her way into the kitchen, her arms laden with dishes._

_"You too, kiddo."_

_By the time Tara managed to gather her backpack, Gemma was motioning towards the entryway, clutching a shopping bag in one hand and something black in the other. They were barely in the small room before Gemma whirled to face her, taking a moment to look Tara up and down, assessing her jean shorts and Chucks with an all-too-familiar pained expression._

_"No shorts tomorrow night, sweetheart- unless you recently bought some hotpants I don't know about?" Gemma decreed by way of explanation as she shoved the bag rather unceremoniously into Tara's hands. Tara's hesitation must have answered her question because Gemma nodded at the bag with a knowing grin. "Figured. I took the liberty of buyin' you some _thangs_-" she waggled a perfectly-groomed brow for emphasis, and dangled what Tara could now see was a pair of brand new, black, heeled boots from a manicured finger._

"_I know you got your own little smart-girl style goin' on, and I know by now that my son loves ya the way ya are or whatever…" She trailed off, then, her face growing serious- almost stern- leaving Tara uncertain as to what _whatever_ was meant to imply. "But it'll be the most important night of his life, you realize that, don't you?"_

_Tara merely nodded, slowly, but Gemma crossed her arms and raised a severe eyebrow, letting the _do you?_ remain unspoken._

_"Of course I realize that, Gem," she returned, weakly, knowing that this wasn't the time to pick nits and point out that while joining his father's club was pretty much Jax's whole life right now... it had been preceded by months of proof that there were other events that would be pretty fucking important to him, too. _But this is Gemma, not Jax_, Tara reminded herself; though SAMCRO meant a lot to all of them, it's importance to Gemma was rivaled by few._

_"It's just as important for _you_, sweetheart."_

_If there was one thing Tara would never get used to, it was Gemma's uncanny ability to scrutinize someone and somehow suss out exactly what they were thinking.  
_

"_After tomorrow night, you ain't just Jackson Teller's little girlfriend anymore," Gemma continued, leaning against the door frame. "You'll be his Old Lady. And not only that, you'll be the Old Lady of the future President of the mother charter of the Sons of Anarchy; what you do, what you say, even how you dress- it _means_ somethin,' now- over at the clubhouse, and in this town. You ready for that?"_

_"I think-" Gemma snorted, cutting off the rest of Tara's sentence- not that Tara herself was altogether certain what would have come after that anyway- and stepped forward to place a palm on each of Tara's cheeks, effectively trapping her into the conversation she'd been avoiding, well… practically since she'd come back to Charming and back to Jax._

_"You _think_? Baby, thinkin'_ _and knowin' are two completely different things and when it comes to my son and this club, you better _know-_ because an old lady can make or break a club." Gemma didn't elaborate, just studied her briefly before continuing. "Jax… he's got a path to that gavel none of the others have had to worry about. That means you, darlin'- more'n anyone else- you've got to be sure that what you're puttin' out there is what they've come to expect from an old lady. You got that?" Tara pulled away, irritated, raising a shoulder to brush off one of Gemma's hands._

_"I got it, Gemma- I got _this,_ alright?" she snapped, shaking the bag full of God-knows-what between them. Christ, it was probably more to reassure the woman than anything else, let her know that she meant to take her goddamn advice when it came to the stupid outfit. Gemma, however, relaxed visibly and patted Tara on the cheek with her remaining hand before resting it on a denim-clad hip and continuing, her voice softening considerably._

_"Thatta girl- a little backbone goes a long way when it comes to bein' an old lady- especially to a Teller. People got expectations of him, sure, but they've also got 'em of you, and there ain't no one who understands what that's like better'n me."_

As it turns out, that isn't as comforting as either of them would have liked it to be.

* * *

"Aaalllright, sweetheart, you're looking just fine," Dr. Angela Carlson soothes as Tara helps her patient down from the exam table.

"You sure, Doc?"

Tig's looking cagey as hell, fingering the zipper on his kutte anxiously as he fairly shoots up out of his seat. The look of utter concern on his features is something that would have taken Tara by surprise a year ago but has become routine ever since the man had laid eyes on the German Shepherd mix Angela is currently ruffling about the ears.

"It's a routine procedure, Tig- the most common one we do here… other than neutering, that is."

"Jesus, doll- as if _that's_ the mental picture I wanna have to kick off my weekend," Tig groans, staggering backward a dramatic step and sending both Angela and Tara into a fit of giggles. He straightens soon after, however, reaching to take Missy's leash from Tara's hand. "But she's doin' okay, then?" Angela smiles, softly, taking a moment to pat Tig on the shoulder before gesturing at the exam room door.

"She's perfect- the stitches are completely dissolved and everything is as it should be. Actually, most people don't even bother bringing their animals in for a follow-up at all." Reaching the empty receptionists' desk, Angela turns, shoving her hands into her lab coat pockets to survey Tig once again, the amused twinkle in her eye remaining as he ducks his chin. Christ, even though she's used to Tig's giant-sized soft spot for dogs- Missy in particular- Tara doesn't know if she'll ever become accustomed to watching the man actually defer to someone else- especially when it comes to what's become one of the most important things in his life. "You did the right thing, having her spayed- it's better for her health in the long run."

"Yeah, yeah… doesn't mean I liked the thought of anyone cuttin' her open," Tig shudders, visibly, then swipes a hand down his face before directing a sheepish grin at the both of them. Funnily enough, he'd noticeably softened towards Tara these past few months- she doesn't have time to spend wondering why, yet again, because his next comment is directed at her.

"You be sure and get your ass to the clubhouse nice and early, darlin', alright? Gem's already drivin' everyone fuckin' crazy settin' up the Prince's royal banquet." Tig rolls ice-blue eyes and shakes his head, but there's not the same tense edge to his animosity towards Jax, either, that there had been since Tara had met him years ago. No, even his category dismissal of _the Prince_ had been half hearted lately, and Tara's not sure whether to credit Missy, Jax's newfound dedication to the club, or both. Either way, she snorts and tosses a smirk in Tig's direction.

"I bet. I'll be over there just as soon as I'm done here- we still have a few things to finish up, so the Queen will have to wait until five, at least-"

"Six!" Angela barks, uncharacteristically, her head snapping up from Missy's release paperwork in a panic. "Remember, you promised to help me, uh, finish up the food I'm bringing and ride over there with me so I know where to park…" she finished, lamely, her eyes seeming to plead with Tara's own: _don't you dare leave me behind._

_I won't_, Tara promises silently, only looking away when Tig's voice breaks the silence once again.

"You comin' to the party tonight too, Doc?" Tig muses, raising an eyebrow in interest and grinning broadly. "Didn't think Kozy'd ever grow a pair and convince you to make an appearance over at the clubhouse. What, were you two gettin' sick of holin' up in his room over at the house, or-" Angela reddens almost instantly and shoves the sheaf of papers at Tig- effectively shutting him up, though his bemused grin remains.

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" He opens his mouth, but she hurries on, recovering quickly. "Who're you bringing as your date, anyway? Missy, here?" At her name, Missy snaps to attention, leaving Tig to shrug, genially.

"You got me pegged, sweetheart- this here's the only girl who ever understood me, and prob'ly the only one who ever will... But I ain't rulin' out takin' one of the many fine ladies of SAMCRO up on what they're gonna be offerin' tonight, either." He grins wickedly at what Tara's sure are matching expressions on her and Angela's faces before raising his hand in a jaunty salute. "On that note, I better get goin', otherwise Gem's gonna have my balls in some jar on the shelf in her office. But, hey, I hear that's a service you offer here too-"

Angela's shoving him out the door before he can mention Kozik or anything else, laughing the whole way.

"Jesus Christ," she breathes, a bit weakly, once her laughter subsides. "Are they all that way?" Then, something seems to occur to her, and she straightens a bit before continuing, more seriously- "Actually, what do I need to know about SAMCRO before tonight?"

"Um…"

God, how the hell do you explain the Sons of Anarchy? Tara had known most of them- some more closely than others- for the better part of her life, but somehow it had never occurred to her before now that they really were just an ever-present sea of black to at least half of Charming. Despite working fairly closely for nearly nine months, now, she and Angela had kept things mostly professional- they'd never talked much about the club beyond a few inside jokes about their respective outlaw boyfriends. On Tara's side at least, that had mostly been because she hadn't a damn clue what to say- who knows what Kozik had felt necessary to share with his girl? Still, it's clear from the way Angela's looking at her that she's expecting her to say _something_, so Tara grasps frantically at somewhere to start, and lands on the patched member they'd seen most recently.

"Well, Tig's definitely- uh… Tig." Tara ignores the face Angela makes in response, and steps behind the desk to drop the rest of Missy's file into the appropriate basket. "I guess what I mean is, you've known Tig for a while so everyone else should be, uh- well, the rest are a bit easier to handle. He's just, you know, _dedicated_. To the club, I mean…" Tara's voice trails off, lamely- maybe Tig hadn't been the best place to start.

"You know, you're not making me feel much better about all this," the young vet returns, rolling her eyes as she crosses the room to lock the heavy front door.

"No, really, they're-" Tara raises her arms, helplessly, lets them fall back at her sides in search of some way to accurately describe the men that had somehow become her pseudo-family over the years. "They seem rough as a group, but you know Koz- he's always been there to help me out; actually, he's probably done more around the apartment than even Jax…although it was probably at least partly because he was trying to impress you-" she can't help but smile at the faint blush that tints Angela's cheeks. "He's just a nice guy that would do anything for a friend. Opie too- he's one of the best men I've ever known... did I tell you he was the first person that talked to me when I came back to Charming after seven years? I don't know how, but it was like no time had passed. I also don't know if Jax and I would even be together if Opie hadn't talked some sense into us way back then." At this, Angela raises a brow in question, but Tara presses on, her smile widening as the memories arise.

"Ope's dad, Piney- he's the one who helped get me down to my aunt's house after my mom died, when my dad couldn't keep it together anymore. He's watched out for me ever since, really; he might seem like a gruff asshole, but there isn't a man on this earth that's more loyal to those he cares for. And JT..." Tara falters, a moment, struggling to continue around the lump in her throat. "Well, let's just say JT's been more of a father to me than my own these past few years- he's the President of the club and he does his best to uh… keep them on the right track because he loves his family more than anything."

"So stick to Koz, Opie, JT and Piney. Got it."

"Well, Tig already feels comfortable around you- though I don't know if that's a good thing."

The look on Angela's face is evidence enough that she's not altogether sure, either. "And Bobby's sort of like Piney- he's no-nonsense, blunt to the point of rudeness, even… but there's more to him than that. He makes the best banana bread you've ever tasted and he's smart as hell- he lived this whole other life before he found the club. A lot of them did, I think. Chibs is a good example- he's Scottish but lived in Ireland most of his life and even had a wife and daughter there. I don't know what happened other than years later, he was here- with his scars and without his family."

"Now Chibs, I've met," Angela muses, motioning for Tara to follow her up the narrow stairs to the kitchen. "He's adorable- all _aye _this and _darlin' _that."

"Oh, they'll _all _call you darlin', make no mistake about that." Tara can't help the grin that kicks up the corners of her mouth any more than she can the image of Jax's own smirk- the one that used to slide so effortlessly onto his lips when he'd pull her in by her belt loops and dip his head to hers with a you ready to go... darlin'? He'd known she hated being lumped in with all of the other girls that had come before- how she'd hated that word in particular- but hadn't been above teasing her, employing that damn smirk until she was biting her lip to keep from smiling herself.

"So this is it, then-" Angela's saying, yanking open the ancient refrigerator in the kitchen turned break room to reveal two large trays of assorted appetizers, almost dazzling in their variety. Tara lets her eyes roam over deviled eggs, delicate bundles of what appears to be smoked salmon atop various crackers, something wrapped in bacon with a decorative toothpick speared into its top, and a few mouthwatering bits she can't even identify.

"Jesus… you made all this?" She can't quite keep the awe out of her voice and Angela snorts, hoisting one tray out and resting it on the formica of the old kitchen table.

"Barely. I was up until after midnight finishing up those stupid eggs, and as it is, almost everything on here needs one thing or another to finish it off. But if you put the capers on the salmon things too soon the crackers get… Well, you mind giving me a hand?" Tara can't help but grin at her as she deposits an armload of little jars and packages onto the table next to the tray and drops rather dramatically into one of the chairs.

"Just tell me what I need to do."

"Well, like I said, the capers get sprinkled over the salmon- but try not to let very many rest on the cracker itself. The chives I still need to chop, but those will go on the eggs…" Tara watches in amusement as Angela indicates each item, one by one, and maps out its placement on one of the several types of small bites displayed on the tray. "... and then we just need to make sure they don't touch on the way over to the clubhouse, because some of these flavors definitely shouldn't- what?" When Tara's grin widens, Angela insists again. "_What?_"

"It's nothing.." Tara's voice trails off in the midst of a fit of giggles, but the doctor folds her arms- complete with a tiny jar of capers- and glares until it dies down. "It's just…" Tara sweeps her hand over the contents of the kitchen table "-you _do_ realize these are for a bunch of bikers, right? I mean, that doesn't mean they've got shit taste, but Jax dunks his fries in his milkshakes, Opie would rather die than to let a piece of fish cross his lips, and the things I've seen Happy and Tig eat…" She shudders, visibly, only to catch sight of Angela's stiff form out of the corner of her eye. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? For laughing. It's-"

"I just want to make a good impression, you know? Koz and I have been together for a while now, and its… well, things are getting serious and I don't want to do anything to ruin that. I mean, the club is practically his whole life- actually, he says it _saved_ his life, so…" Smiling, feebly, Angela shrugs, the glint in her eye becoming evident now that she's mentioned Kozik, and Tara can't seem to help but lean back in her chair, momentarily nonplussed.

Obviously, Angela cares for Kozik- that much is clear, has been clear for a while now- but Tara had never put much thought into what would actually happen if the two got serious, and just how much the approval of Kozik's friends would matter. A soft smile makes its way onto Tara's lips as she reaches to lay a hand over Angela's, and in that moment, their sort of mentor-apprentice relationship is set aside and replaced by something Tara can only define as mutual respect. Jesus, she'd never thought she'd see the day where she had something to offer the young vet… but after months of uncertainty in almost every other aspect of her life, her place here at the clinic has never seemed more predestined.

"Listen- Koz cares about you, so even if- _big if_\- someone or other is less than impressed by you…" Tara snorts, waving her hand. "Actually, I'm not even going to finish that sentence. You're a vet- a fucking _doctor_\- and on top of that, you're not stuck up, or a priss, or any of the other things I've heard the guys complain about when it comes to women." Angela's eyes flit to the tray of fancy appetizers- Christ, _hors d'oeuvres_\- she's currently sprinkling mysterious red flakes over, and Tara chuckles again. "So long as you don't mention that that salmon wasn't tossed on a grill before it went on the crackers, they'll love it… though they'd have loved you just as much if you'd brought a warm case of beer and a couple bottles of Jack." This time, Angela joins her in her laughter, and Tara breathes a sigh of relief- at least she's got her laughing.

"And you don't have to warn me about the croweaters- Tig goes on about _them_ enough for anyone…" It's with a smirk that Angela busies herself with finishing up a row of whatever she's working on, and since Tara's none too eager to discuss croweaters with anyone- let alone her boss- she lets the subject drop. _Christ, was it really that easy? _That question's answered a moment later when the doctor replaces the jar on the table and, instead of choosing another, regards Tara quietly.

"What about Jax?" _Huh?_

"I'm sorry, what-"

"Jax." Angela repeats, firmly. "You give me these glowing reviews for everyone in the club, but skip over the one guy out of all of them that's the most important to you?"

"I mean, you already know him-" Tara stops abruptly when Angela waves her hand, dismissively.

"It's not just that; you haven't been the same since… whatever I walked into that day over the winter." Tara makes her best attempt at a quizzical look, but Angela shakes her head and scoffs. "You and Jax, screaming match right outside this door, ring any bells? Besides, you think I haven't noticed you drifting around here, half lost, for the past few months? Or how you stare at the clinic door after he's left like you can't decide if you're relieved he's gone or ready to run after him?" Angela's eyes are boring into her with a mixture of what Tara can only read as reproach and concern, and suddenly, she feels all protests dying on her lips; what comes out, then, is some version of the truth.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I mean, I know I've been off for a bit, but I tried not to let it affect my work-"

"Your work's been fine- exemplary, really. You've taken on a lot here, and don't think I don't appreciate it." The doctor leans forward, this time to rest a reassuring hand on Tara's own. "Trust me- this clinic is my livelihood and you know better than anyone else that I care about those animals more than most humans… so if I thought you were a liability, we'd have had this conversation long before now. Okay?" Her voice is kind, and Tara nods, slowly, reassured but a bit dazed at how quickly this conversation had turned. "It's just that I know you've been spending a lot of time over at the clubhouse and it isn't exactly girlfriend central over there-"

"Yeah, not so much," Tara snorts.

"Well, if you need to talk… I'm here, okay?" At Tara's hesitance, Angela continues, quickly. "I mean, I know you've got Donna and all, but…" she shrugs, and for the second time today, Tara finds herself wondering how she'd managed to luck into finding this job- this woman, who's proving herself to be not only an exceptionally dedicated mentor, but a friend as well. She'd actually not managed to find the words to tell Donna, either; really, how the hell is she supposed to explain the entire avalanche of misunderstanding that had led her here?

_You don't- at least not today. Just stick to the basics, Knowles…_

"It's nothing really- just a misunderstanding between us that we refused to talk about for way too long; and now that we've just let things... " Tara swallows, which proves difficult given the sudden lump in her throat. "It just seems like there's never a good time to clear the air, you know? With Jax patching in, my finals coming up…" Angela frowns as Tara's voice trails off, unsure of what else to say.

"He's your boyfriend, Tara- so even though both of you have a lot of shit going on, it's pretty much his _job_ to be there for you. Especially if it's something that involves him, and especially if he's… well, done something to hurt you." Something in the tone of her voice makes Tara's head snap up and her eyes rise to meet Angela's blue ones, which seem to be darkening as rapidly as the expression on her face; it takes a moment to connect the dots, to realize what the connection has been between this conversation and the last, but when the implication finally lands, Tara finds herself protesting immediately.

"It's nothing like that, I promise. I mean, the club has some warped views on how to treat women, but I trust Jax- I do." This last bit is in response to Angela's momentary hesitation, before her expression clears and she actually laughs.

"Well, good- because I don't know much about how all of this works, but what I do know is that until tonight, he's still a Prospect, right?" Tara barely has time to nod before the doctor's rushing on, grinning wickedly. "Then I could've had Koz kick his ass for hurting you, simple as that." Tara tries to grin in response- she really does- but a few long seconds into her feeble attempt, she realizes she's going to have to explain further.

"I… I hurt _him_, even though it was all a big misunderstanding, and he rode off to go deal with it on his own, like he always does." She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. "I guess I just thought things would eventually get back to normal between us, and when they didn't… when time just kept going by and neither of us said anything…" Tara shrugs, weakly- again having to blink just to hold the sting of tears at bay- while Angela bites her lip, thoughtfully.

"Did you two finally discuss your scholarship letters, then? I know you hadn't had a chance to really think about all of that when you showed them to me, but-" She stops abruptly at the look on Tara's face, and- _oh, Christ, let's just bask in the misery, shall we?_ Unable to look her friend in the eye, Tara's gaze drops to her hands, the tears that had been threatening nearly this entire conversation finally blurring her vision. "Oh, honey... " From her tone, it's evident Angela's put two and two together.

"I planned to tell him- before I told _you_, even, the same day I got them and a hundred times since. But then he was out on a run, it was just a couple days later when everything else happened- and ever since, it just seems like…" Tara slumps back in her chair, letting her posture speak for itself.

"...like there hasn't been a good time, I get it. But you keep saying that, Tara, and it isn't fair to either of you to just push this to the side- and I mean the scholarship letters and whatever else is going on with you two. After tonight, he'll be patched in, you'll be done with your first year of college… and then what? You guys need to talk about what comes next no matter how much it might hurt one or both of you." Angela cracks a smile, adding, "It's gonna hurt me too whenever you leave, you know. I don't even want to think about having anyone else step in, here. But this is about _your_ life, Tara, and whatever you decide has to be about what's best for you- not me, or even Jax- and _definitely_ not anyone else. But he deserves to know whatever choice you make-"

"It isn't a choice, though, really- at least, it isn't one I still have to make; we've already talked about all of this and made a plan. _Together_." _And we have_, Tara thinks, a little desperately. She's putting in at least one more year of undergrad here at Charming Community, he's leaving SAMCRO and transferring charters, and they'll do it together. _Just one more year…_

"So then why did you apply for the scholarships at all?" Angela asks, quietly. "Why not wait until next year?" Tara shrugs, miserably, picking at a small hole in her scrub bottoms.

"My guidance counselor thought it would be a good indicator of what would be offered once I do go, that it could help me plan my applications for next year's scholarships and save money on my admissions applications." She smiles, sheepishly. "I mean, no sense in applying places that have nothing to offer, you know?"

"You hadn't planned on having to turn down almost a full ride from both of the major school systems in the state, had you?" She looks up to find a faint, knowing smile on Angela's lips… and a hint of sympathy in her eyes as well.

"I don't know _what _I expected, really- but it doesn't matter, does it? I have until August first to accept or decline, and since I'm definitely declining and waiting until next year, I just need to tell Jax and-"

"So why haven't you?"

_Why haven't I? _Aside from the obvious- sheer unwillingness to add yet another stone to the heap of misery that had been weighing her down for months- that is…

"I haven't told him because I just feel so… far away from him right now. I didn't -

"No- why haven't you already sent in the declination form?" Angela's voice, though quiet, seems to echo in the small kitchen- above the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint buzzing of the fluorescent light above them. "If you've already decided not to go, why haven't you done something about it?"

"I-"

"If you're still considering going, nobody would blame you, you know," Angela smiles, kindly, cutting off whatever the hell Tara had been about to say in protest. Tara snorts, shaking her head and picturing the one woman she knows beyond a doubt would blame her… and the one man whose reaction is all but predictable.

"Jax's mother would- blame me, I mean," she adds, hastily, at Angela's quizzical look. "You should hear her talk about SAMCRO… especially _Jax _and SAMCRO. Anyway, she's the one person that's pretty much guaranteed to react horribly whenever I actually do need to go."

"Koz hasn't told me much about everyone- as you can see- but even a blind woman could see that the man's more afraid of Gemma Teller than he is whoever the hell the Mayans are... so you're not alone." The mood lightens considerably as the two share a brief chuckle, but then Tara's shaking her head, insistently.

"I'm not a_fraid _of her, really; I mean, the woman's intimidating, overbearing, controlling… but I've known her since we were kids and she hasn't scared me since she took me to get birth control when we were sixteen. Before that, it was probably when she told me not to break Jax's heart the first time I saw her after I moved back to Charming." Rolling her eyes, Tara ignores Angela's laughter and continues. "It's just that we haven't told her about any of what we're planning for the future- and there's no need to until the time is right. And as far as the scholarships go, I _know _Jax and I need to talk about it because it impacts what happens next year- what charters he needs to start looking at, and all of that... I just need some of this shit to die down first, okay?"

"Just be fair to him, Tara; he deserves to know regardless of what you want to do... and make sure you're being fair to yourself and what's best for you, too, okay?" When Tara doesn't respond, Angela smiles, softly, and changes the subject- gesturing at the large tray between them.

"Well, now that these are done, what do you say you actually help me with the second tray so we can finish up?" _Shit. _While Tara had been alternately arguing with herself and trying not to cry, the doctor had managed to finish garnishing the entire tray of hors d'oeuvres. "I mean, apparently," Angela continues, her smile curving wickedly as she rises to retrieve the second tray, "the Queen of Hearts will have our guts for garters if we're late for the party." Tara can't help the laughter that bubbles up any more than she can the biting sarcasm that comes next- a step back towards the Tara Knowles that had been before she'd allowed herself to get pulled under by uncertainty.

"Pretty sure the correct punishment is _off with our heads_... but I can't expect you to get everything right on the first go, can I?"

"That's fair," Angela agrees as she swaps the two trays and settles back into her chair, "So tell me everything I need to know about interacting with Gemma Teller- and make it quick." Tara pretends to think long and hard a moment, a slightly devious grin curling the edges of her lips as she leans forward to ask the _essential_ question-

"Tell me… do you own a pair of thigh high boots?"

* * *

The evening air is humid and warm, but the soft breeze that seems to pick up the instant Tara steps outside is already a stark contrast to the still air of the crowded kitchen. Sighing as she pushes the heavy metal door at the back of the clubhouse closed behind her, she drops her head back against it and closes her eyes, feeling as if she's taking her first deep breath in hours. Aside from being packed full of girlfriends, hangers on, crow eaters, and old ladies- not a difficult feat given the relatively small space- the clubhouse kitchen had been hot, hazy with cigarette smoke, and Gemma had loomed large over all the goings-on. Eventually, Tara wasn't sure whether it was the air or the atmosphere in the kitchen that was more stifling, and she'd been relieved when the patched members had arrived since Kozik and JT had appeared to spirit away both Angela and Gemma, in turn.

With her eyes closed, the distant, ever-present thrum of motorcycle engines is calming, somehow, seeming to weave its way between the beats of her heart until they're almost a part of her, filling her chest and expanding outward to the very tips of her fingers. It's almost too easy to bask in the comfort of it, really- and it occurs to Tara that the men of SAMCRO, the family, are much the same; despite what others saw, despite the flaws and the danger and the women, there wasn't much they wouldn't do for each other or those they cared about. It's not hard to see why Jax had spent the better part of his life longing to be a part of it… and not hard to figure out why she herself had spent more time here than ever before during these tension-fraught few months; but how easy will it be to let them all go- even temporarily- a year from now?

It's the answer to that question that determines whether the warm feeling that envelops her every time she hears the purr of a Dyna is something closer to love, or quicksand.

The strike and flare of a lighter pierces her thoughts, and Tara's eyes fly open to the relative blackness of the back of the lot; despite the advancing year, it's mostly dark at this time of the evening and the clubhouse itself provides a shelter from both the cheap sconce near the door and the harsh streetlights of the front lot. As such, she isn't able to locate the source of the sound until its owner inhales his cigarette, forcing the cherry to burn red against its inky backdrop- a good few inches higher off the ground than you'd expect.

"Ope, is that you?"

"Jesus Christ, Knowles, when I came around the corner of the building I thought you were prayin' with your eyes closed 'n all- then, you didn't even hear me walk up, so I figured you were havin' a nap and I'd just have me a smoke while I waited on you to wake up." His voice is teasing as he steps out of the shadows, dark eyes appearing to twinkle in the dim light.

"Oh please, like you're that stealthy," Tara snorts, crossing her arms. "I'd hear those size twelve monstrosities you call shoes coming a mile away." He rolls his eyes and she gives him a wry smirk- she'd missed their banter, the ease of their relationship lately, almost as much as she'd missed that of their other best friend. _God, can't you go even a moment without thinking about him?_

"Yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that like I ain't the one that was unde-fuckin'-feated in Hide n' Seek our entire childhood." Despite herself, Tara giggles at the memory of Opie- always just a little bit outsized for his age- not only managing to find the best hiding places whether they were in the clubhouse, at the park, or one of their homes, but also being the only one of their group with the patience to stay both perfectly still and perfectly silent. She'd lost track of the number of times they'd all given up, shouting for him to come out, already, because the streetlights were starting to come on.

"What are you doing back here, anyway?"

"Same thing you are-" Ope answers, coming to lean against the door next to her, his cigarette dangling from his lips- "hidin' from Gemma." Tara finds herself laughing a second time in the space of a few moments as she nudges him with her shoulder.

"Busted. Though, JT managed to drag her out of the kitchen a few minutes ago, so they're probably off getting distracted." Ope chuckles under his breath.

"Naw, they're all in Church by now but sure as shit, she snagged Jax the moment we rolled up- prob'ly to remind him how important this vote is." Tara rolls her eyes, watching Opie take a long drag and suddenly wishing he was smoking something a little stronger than a cigarette.

"I'm sure he's aware… Christ, the Pope knows how important tonight is to you and Jax." Her sarcasm suddenly wilting, Tara takes a moment to study her friend as he finishes his cigarette and then flicks it away into the night as a faint smile graces his lips "I'm proud of you, you know." Her voice is quiet, but she knows he's heard her when he freezes a moment, then shifts to regard her curiously. "I mean it, Winston" she continues, firmly, not giving him the chance to be dismissive, to slough this off the way he's always done everything else when it gets too personal. "This is what you've always said you wanted since you were a kid... and you stuck it out and put up with all the bullshit, and you're here, about to patch SAMCRO-"

"Come off it, Knowles, like this wasn't a sure thing, what with my old man-"

"Jesus, Ope, Piney's half the reason this _wasn't_ a sure thing," she scoffs, drawing a snicker from Opie. "He's always been harder on you than anyone else, which is saying something considering I'm including Jax in that, too. Even after Otto-" She's stopped, abruptly, by the smile sliding off his lips, but it's replaced quickly by another- this one almost strikingly false. Still, Opie's eyes are not unkind as he steers the conversation back onto a safer, more lighthearted, tack.

"A'ight, I get it- you're proud I managed to patch into SAMCRO- which, by the way, is the same goddamn club _Tig_ managed to get into." And just like that, the glint is back in his eye, the humor behind his smirk once again.

"It isn't just the club and you know it- you finished school even though you hated every minute of it, you did that vocational program and got yourself your ACE-"

"ASE, there, Brainiac-"

"Fine, _ASE_, but don't play that off, Ope. You did shit you always wanted to, and shit you never even thought you could do- nothing's gonna take that away from you, and nothing's gonna stop me being proud of you for sticking with it."

He's pulling her into a bear hug before either of them realize it, half lifting her off her feet until the soft black leather of her booted toes is dangling above his scuffed Nikes.

"Thanks, Knowles," is all he says in return, though it's murmured into her hair- and then he's setting her gently back onto her feet before pushing her back to hold at arm's length, dark eyes regarding her seriously. "You tell _him_ that?"

"Tell who, what?" Tara responds with a nervous chuckle though she knows exactly who and what he means- and from the look in his eye, Opie _knows_ she knows; to that end, he continues, almost as if she hadn't spoken.

"I ain't gonna lie, Tara- it means a lot to hear you say all this, especially since I know how you feel about some of the shit that goes on around here." She opens her mouth to protest, but Opie shakes his head almost violently, his beanie slipping just a bit, and she closes it again. "Just listen for a minute, okay?" Silently, she nods, watching as he releases her arms and crosses his own, the leather of the ever-present kutte straining against his shoulders. "I know all this shit- the runs, the hours, the, uh-"

"Croweaters," Tara supplies, drily, drawing a snort from Opie.

"Right, well, I was gonna say Gemma, but have it your way, I guess." Sobering, he scratches at his beard a moment before elaborating. "I know it ain't all fun and games for you and Donna, but you hung in-"

"You tell _her _all this?" Tara can't help but interrupt, only to be drowned out by Opie's groan.

"Christ, Knowles, do you _ever_ shut up? I got shit you need to hear and you keep interrupting to try and make it about me-" He stops, abruptly, and barks out a frustrated laugh, swiping the beanie off his head to run his hands through his wild hair before returning his gaze to her. Tara bites her lip, knowing- but unwilling to admit- exactly why she'd been trying to turn the conversation away from where she knew it was going. Nonetheless, she sighs, raising her hands in surrender and drawing an exasperated chuckle from Opie.

"He loves you, you know- though God fuckin' knows why…" this last bit sets them both laughing- for real, this time- and it's a moment before he shrugs it off. "I know tonight ain't the same for you guys as it is for Donna and me- hell, he's the goddamn Prince and you have Gemma to deal with, not to mention whatever the hell you're plannin' to do with that big Doc brain of yours in a couple years..."

Jesus, it's times like these she wishes they'd told Opie of their plans to leave Charming from the very beginning- because even though it's going to be hard for both of them to leave the SAMCRO family as a whole this time next year, leaving Opie and Donna is going to be near-impossible… and listening to him unknowingly reassure her about it is sending the sick, guilty knot in her gut into overdrive.

"I know you two got other shit you're dealin' with, and hell if I know what it is… but what I _do _know is that you love him back even if you ain't all that sure how you feel about him patchin' in."

"It isn't that…" she whispers, staring at her feet in an effort to gather her thoughts. "I'm proud of him just like I am of you, Ope- for doing everything JT asked of him, for knowing what he wanted all those years ago and going after it even with all the shit that happened in between- my dad, Clay, JT's accident, Maureen, Rogue River, the b-" Christ, why the hell did she almost say the baby? Opie doesn't seem to notice, though, just reaches to tilt her chin up.

"So tell him," he says, simply, his arm dropping back to his side.

"I-"

"_Tell him_," Opie interrupts, a bit more firmly. "You've been walkin' around here like you ain't sure whether to tear his clothes off or cry, he's spent the last couple-a months forcin' himself to pretend to be more interested in fuckin' transmissions and carburators than he ever has before… but tonight- well, all he's gotta know is that you love him, that you'll stick with him no matter what." Jesus, if she didn't know better, she'd think Angela and Opie had somehow secretly joined forces to call her out on her reaction to all the shit that's been whizzing through her head lately; and then a second thought hits, soon after the first- is she really that obvious?

Besides," he relents, cracking a sly grin and reaching for another cigarette, "he cares what you think almost as much as he does me, so there's that-" Unable to stop the small smile from spreading on her lips, Tara shoves him, barely managing to knock him back a step before he jerks his head over his shoulder. "I'll go rescue him from Gemma- send him your way, a'ight?" Tara nods, gratefully, as he reaches behind her for the clubhouse door. "'Sides, I got to find Donna before all this kicks off, make sure she gets to Koz's Doc before Gemma scars the poor woman for life-"

"Oh, I think Angela can handle herself," Tara retorts at his retreating figure, recalling the way the doctor had saucily excused herself from the kitchen when Kozik had tugged at her hand with a sickeningly sweet _I'll be right back, ma'am_… and the way JT had preempted Gemma's retort by pulling her into his chest and kissing her soundly.

Suddenly desperate not to dwell on how easy everyone else's relationships seem to be going lately, Tara focuses on the positive- Angela seems to be fitting in as well as can be expected, since Gemma had neither walked all over her, or treated her with a dose of her withering sarcasm. Christ, after a few years of Precious' tinny laughter and vicious temper- not to mention Gemma and Luann whispering amidst a cloud of smoke- she should be counting her lucky stars at least one of the patched members has a significant other that's a normal human being. Really, between Donna and Angela, old lady functions are actually beginning to sound tolerable.

She's trying to decide whether the sudden mental image of the three of them in the shop downtown inking matching crow tattoos makes her want to laugh or cry when the door creaks open once again, and she hears the voice that's never failed to make her heart skip a beat- not even these past few months.

"Tara?"

Though she'd be able to pick his voice from a host of others, there's something about the way he says her name- maybe the way he gives it bite, almost seems to savor it- that has always done something to her insides. And so, even as she turns away from the back lot and towards him, she has to remind her heart to slow down- she can't have this conversation if she allows herself to get lost in him before she's even started.

Jax is silhouetted by the light of the clubhouse for a moment before he pushes the door shut and leans against it, much like she'd done several minutes ago. Christ, she hasn't seen him, at least not awake, for over twenty-four hours and damn her, her breath's catching as she takes him in- all leather and denim and those bright blue eyes. He notices her bodily reaction to him almost instantly, and an easy smile graces his lips in response; it widens when she reaches up to catch the end of one of the blonde locks grazing the leather of the kutte at his shoulders and rub it between her fingers. He licks his lips, catching the lower one between his teeth- a tell she recognizes at once; he's not unaffected by her, either.

"Hey…" is all Tara can think to respond as she raises her eyes to his, noting how much more relaxed he seems than the last time they'd been alone. He looks… happy- the smile truly reaching his eyes for the first time in recent memory- and she doesn't have time to wonder how she feels about the fact that it's due to the club before he's gently encircling her wrist with his fingers and drawing it to his lips. He lays a kiss on her palm, too, its warmth seeming to radiate outward towards her fingers, and she has the odd urge to close them- as if she could somehow keep that little part of him with her forever.

Somewhere, laughter breaks out- raucous, but distant- filtering through the dark and sending Jax's eyes flitting over her shoulder, uneasily.

"Ope said you were out here," he says, somewhat unnecessarily, as he releases her hand and leans against the door, reaching into his kutte pocket for his cigarettes.

"Yeah, I had to get out of there for a minute, you know?" Tara shrugs, not really wanting to waste time explaining everything that's brought her out here; almost instantly, however, Jax's brow furrows in concern- cigarettes forgotten. Even though it's a bit of an overreaction, she lets him frame her face with his hands and search for any sign of trouble, eyes darkening until she almost wants to look away.

"You okay, Babe?" It's a loaded question, really; one that could have- should have- been asked by either or both of them much earlier than this. Still, Tara's been called a lot of things- by her absentee father, by the catty bitches she went to school with…. but she's never been called selfish. So, it'll have to be half of the truth, then- because Jax deserves to know that the girl he loves supports him just as he was ready to do for her.

"I'm-"

"Jackieeeeeeee!"

Chibs' unmistakable voice echoes through the lot and Jax's head jerks up, his hair falling into his eyes. Jesus, of course the club would come calling, now that she's finally got him alone, awake, and sober.

"Time for the verdict, I guess," Jax scoffs, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. "I dunno if Ma told you how these things go, but at the tail end of Church, our sponsors'll bring Ope and I up for discussion, talk about our Prospect shit and see if we're ready to patch. So now they call us in and let us know if we're good enough to become Sons, or if we got more prospecting time comin'."

"You can't honestly say you're worried, Jax…" He shrugs, his expression unreadable for a moment before running his hands through his hair.

"I don't know, Tara. We did all the shit Prospects do and then some- everything with Rogue River and Cameron Hayes… but nothin's a guarantee." _Not even being the son of John Teller or Piney Winston,_ he doesn't say.

"Jaaaaaax! Five minutes!"

"Comin'!" Jax shouts in return, the nervous smile playing at his lips as he he jerks his head over his shoulder, gesturing for Tara to follow. "C'mon, I got a verdict to hear and hopefully a patch-in party to go to after that." He raises his chin, the all-too-familiar smirk once again curling his lips. "And I'll need my old lady by my side."

With that, he turns toward the door and blindly finds Tara's hand- ostensibly to tug her along after him- and all at once, it's as if her throat is closing, her lungs fairly bursting to call his name, to stop him. To that end she clutches at the hand folded around hers and pulls him back, ignoring his momentary confusion in her desperation to say what's in her heart while they're alone- before it's too late and he's patched in and owing everyone a piece of the Prince. And somehow, the moment his impossibly blue eyes meet hers, she knows in her heart that regardless of all the people in the past twenty four hours that have been urging her to do something, be something, _say _something… this isn't for_ them _at all. This is for him, her, and nobody else.

"I just want you to know I'm proud of you, Jackson, no matter what happens." Tara pauses, then, taking in the sudden, undefined emotion shining in his eyes as he clutches her fingers so firmly she has a fleeting, ridiculous thought they might crack. "You've done everything you ever wanted, and I'm so happy for you, baby." She has but a microsecond to note the flash of something- sadness?- that crosses Jax's face before he pulls her to him, wrapping her up in his arms and clutching her so fiercely the blood rushes in her ears. Its roar is so loud she isn't sure, at first, she's heard him correctly when he whispers in her ear-

"It ain't all I've ever wanted, babe."

Then, he's pulling back to kiss her gently, resting his forehead on hers to whisper the words they've held back more often than said, these past few months.

"I love you, Tara."

And Tara knows in that moment that every word she's said- and the four she's about to say- is true, despite everything else; she just has to hope it's enough.

"I love you, too."


	19. Ch 19

****I own nothing you recognize****

_The sun was still hot, despite the fact that it was nearly low enough to begin to bleed into the rising hills that stretched out in the distance beyond Stockton State Prison. Subsequently, Jax's kutte had long since begun sticking unpleasantly to his damp SONS shirt at his shoulder blades. Tossing his journal onto the table next to him and shrugging uncomfortably in an attempt to get some air between the heavy kutte and his back, the same thought occurred to him that he'd had the other couple handfuls of times they'd been up here- why the hell hadn't someone thought to have planted a fuckin' tree or two?_

_Doesn't matter either way to Ope, Jax thought, wryly- the guy had at least been in the damn building itself for the past couple hours and not sweltering out here in the near-June sun. Not that it had done either of them any good; Otto had refused all of his one-on-one visits from anyone but Luanne lately so their last few trips up here had been blessedly, yet frustratingly short, with Ope slouching out the Visitors' door under thirty minutes after he'd gone in. Thankfully, he'd stopped bothering to gripe about it for the most part, and Jax's questions about why he still insists on coming up here are almost always met with a shrug and a casual-_

"_Just wanna make sure he knows he's still got SAMCRO."_

_Jax couldn't fault him for that, really- he himself had been lucky enough to be sponsored by Chibs- arguably the one Son besides Piney that he'd trusted beyond a doubt when someone had been trying to murder his father, and definitely the only one that had believed him when it had turned out to be Clay. So if Chibs were to find himself pinched for murder, he'd probably be doing exactly what Opie was… and he'd sure as hell appreciate someone to make the ride with him every other fuckin' weekend. It's just that this weekend-_

_Sighing and pushing the nagging thought away, Jax reached into his kutte pocket to extract a cigarette and lighter. Christ, he didn't even really want or need another smoke- especially not judging by the small collection of butts that littered the gravel at his feet. No, what he_ needed _was a distraction- something to take his mind off what the night would bring because sitting here and fucking worrying wouldn't do anybody any good. Absently, he flicked the lid of the Zippo open and closed a few times before lighting the cig and sighing again as the smoke curled into his lungs- this time in satisfaction- as he recalled something JT liked to say:_

_Sometimes, it's the small things._

Small, hell_, some voice inside of him protests, veering his train of thought directly back where they'd come from. Regardless of how the vote turned out- whether Jax was to leave the SAMCRO chapel as a fully patched member or as a prospect who couldn't quite cut it- the night was going to be anything but small, and by now it's clear that no amount of distraction is going to change that. He'd spent the last months living up to the promise he'd made himself when he'd thought Tara was pregnant- to step the fuck up, be a man, and stay out of his own head- and not even Tig and Piney had found much fault with him recently. Still, the rapidly approaching vote has him sliding backwards like he hadn't anticipated._

"_You ready, brother?"_

_Jax started, nearly dropping his cigarette as Opie approached, reaching out for the kutte that lay folded on the picnic table next to Jax._

"_Jesus Christ…" was all Jax could respond, shaking his head; he took one last drag, burning the cigarette down to the filter before flicking it half heartedly towards the can of sand near the sidewalk and hauling himself to his feet._

"_You been out here this whole time, suntanning and writing in your diary like a girl?" Ope cracked, nodding at the journal, a grin splitting his lips as he shrugged on his kutte._

_"Fuck off…" Christ, it had been a while since one of these visits had ended with Ope wearing an actual fucking smile- and suddenly, Jax remembered just why they were here. "Otto see you today? You were in there a while." He had his answer when Opie's smile got wider._

_"Yup. Shit's lookin' up for him too- he's got his trial comin' up finally but I guess Rosen's sayin' the witness might not be willing to testify." Opie shrugged, waiting as Jax stuffed his journal and cigarettes into his kutte pocket. "He said he'd heard from Luann that tonight was the patch vote and told me he'd give me his proxy, even though it doesn't fuckin' matter since he can't give it to a prospect anyway." Jax snorted, following Opie to the sidewalk that lined the main parking area._

"_Oh yeah? And what'd he say? We gonna be rockin' prospect flash or a reaper and a top rocker?" Ope smirked over his shoulder, popping an imaginary collar._

_"Proxy'd be _yea_ for both… if he wasn't locked up, and _if _they weren't meetin' almost as we speak." The smirk seemed to fade in the moment before Opie turned back towards the sidewalk in front of him. "He's been inside and not out here, so it don't mean much, I guess- since he cut everyone off, all he's been talkin' to is Luann, but he said he appreciates the way the club's been lookin' after her… the way we've been lookin' after her. Said that's all he asks from us as prospects, and that he hopes I'll keep doin' the same after I patch in- check up on her every week or so, see if she needs anything she didn't come to the club with."_

_Makes sense, Jax thought as they reached their bikes- though he kept it to himself; then, Opie was continuing, his words mirroring Jax's thoughts almost perfectly._

_"I just figure, if somethin' ever happens and I'm inside, I'd want the same thing, y'know? Someone to watch out for Donna, help her with all the shit she's too stubborn to ask for help with…" Ope trailed off, passing his helmet from hand to hand, his expression unreadable as usual._

_"You and me both, Ope- I'd want someone to make sure Tara's okay, too… and we both know how stubborn she is." Opie chuckled, scratching his beard, thoughtfully._

_"Yeah, I know. And Tara's a strong chick- she'd tear you a new one for gettin' hemmed up and then stitch you back together just so she could do it again. Hell, she'd be runnin' that vet office by the time you got out just so it'd be legal to prove her point." They both laughed a moment before Opie continued, more quietly. "Tara's got Gemma half up her ass, and your old man and Trinity that think of her like family; they'd never let her struggle, and you know I wouldn't either." Jax nodded, clapping Opie on the shoulder in thanks- because he _did_ know- Opie's just that kind of friend. "Donna, though… she's strong but since her parents moved back to her hometown, all she's got is Piney- and he loves her like a daughter but he ain't never been real good at bein' around." Opie shrugged, and suddenly, Jax knew exactly what he was asking._

_"Ope, man- this ain't never gonna happen. The club's in a good place, the deals JT's pushin' through are smart… it ain't like it was when we were kids. We're still on the wrong side of the law, but the weapons charges both our dads caught- that's a thing of the past." Opie nodded, opened his mouth to reply, but Jax grinned, cuffing him on the shoulder to shut him up. "Let me finish. If somethin' ever happens to one of us, you know as well as I do that we'll both do our best to watch out for our... _old ladies_." The extra emphasis on the term set Opie grinning again._

_"Tara ever come around to the idea of gettin' the crow tat?" Oh, Jesus; the memory of just how badly_ that _conversation had gone reared its ugly head- but that had been over a year ago, now._

'_We haven't talked about it- didn't figure it was the right time with the way things have been. And now that Hap isn't comin' down for the party, it ain't like it could've happened tonight anyway."_

"_Been wonderin' when you'd admit there was somethin' goin' on with you two," Opie returned, settling onto his bike and hanging his helmet from the handlebars once again. When Jax didn't answer, he rolled his eyes. "You gonna tell me, or you gonna make me steal your diary and find out for myself?"_

_Laughing though he was at Ope's line of questioning, Jax sobered quickly, realizing that he and Ope hadn't talked about the tension that had been between he and Tara over the winter because they'd barely talked about Opie and Donna's much more real pregnancy scare. In fact, Opie had mentioned it in passing about a week after the fact, and Jax hadn't been able to bring himself to add his own shit to the pile- not when the whole misunderstanding was his own goddamn fault, and not when Ope himself had seemed so relieved and unwilling to take the conversation any further. And dammit, he wasn't about to bring all that shit up now- not in the parking lot of Stockton State Prison, and _definitely_ not on what should be their patch-in day. So, he kept it simple._

_"I dunno, man; we've just been stressin' out- her over school like usual, and me over the end of this prospecting shit… We'll be fine once it's summer and all that ain't hangin' over our heads." Opie raised a skeptical eyebrow and leaned back on his bike, assessing Jax, who perched reluctantly on the edge of his own._

_"I know we've been busy, man… but where the fuck have you been? Have you _seen_ her lately, driftin' around the clubhouse after Gemma like she's- I dunno, sort of lost? This ain't just school stress and you know it; hell, Tara_ lives _for that shit- tests, studying, all of that- and this is different, brother." Jax closed his eyes, briefly, and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off an oncoming headache. Of course he knows it isn't just school or the club- they'd never really talked about any of the shit that had happened after he'd found the pregnancy test months back- but neither of them had really had the luxury of getting lost in fucking emotion since then, either._

"_We had an argument a while back, and we just haven't taken the time to make it right, I guess," Jax responded, finally- that's about as specific as he was willing to get. "Like I said, once this shit dies down, once there's less pullin' our focus, we'll handle it, okay?" Shrugging, Jax clipped on his helmet, hoping that Ope took the hint; evidently, he had, since he slowly picked up his helmet and fastened it, too- eyes never leaving Jax's._

_"Yeah, _okay_. Just answer one question for me... You love her?"_

"_Jesus, Ope, what the fuck kind of question is that?" Jax exploded, getting heated- fuckin' pissed was more like it- "Of course I love her- and there ain't a goddamn thing I wouldn't do for-"_

_"Alright, alright- you made your point," Opie interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. "I know you do, I was just makin' a point. If you love her, you need to talk to her, make sure you're solid before everything gets crazy because tonight's gonna change things for her, too."_

_And with that, Opie fired up his Softail, grinning once more before jerking his head towards the highway that would take them back to Charming._

_"Now let's go patch in."_

* * *

"Hey, Jax-"

Ope's voice snaps Jax out of his reverie; not that he'd been lacking for someone to talk to him a moment ago- since he'd gotten to the clubhouse, really. His mother had instantly cornered him when he'd been stupid enough to bottleneck himself behind the bar to grab a beer, and he'd been half-listening to her tell him how big this was for the past several minutes. Opie jerks a thumb towards the kitchen behind Gemma's back, mouths a few words, and then it all comes together.

"Hey, Ma, I got to take care of some shit. I'll be outside if they finish up in there before I get back, alright?" Gemma's eyes narrow, but he doesn't take the time to entertain whatever her protest is because he's edging past her before she can get the words out.

"She's out back," Ope murmurs as Jax nears him, and together they step into the kitchen- crowded with women, some of which he's never even seen before. Jax sighs, and Opie catches his eye. "Hey- I ain't sayin' she's back there plannin' her crow or nothin', but I think this is shit you wanna hear. Just listen, okay?"

Right.

Tara's just outside the back door, ostensibly where Opie had left her, drawing nervous circles in the dirt with her toe. It's dark back here- the only street light is on the front side of the lot, and the shitty little light JT had rigged up back here barely even reaches her. Still, though, he can sense the exact moment she realizes it's him by the way she moves infinitesimally nearer, and he's already practically dying for her to turn around and look at him, say what she's got to say.

"Tara?"

There, she is- her beloved face finally appearing in relief to the blackness behind her- and he doesn't even have the chance to say anything else before she's closing the distance between them to reach up and touch his hair. Jesus, he'd give anything if she'd just wrap it around her fingers and pull him into her, help him drown out all the bullshit tonight's already been- but wish as he might, he doesn't have time for that now.

He settles for a kiss on her palm- her lips are too dangerous right now- and fishes out a cigarette thinking how ironic it is he needs a distraction from his fucking distraction. He focuses on it instead of her for a moment, as they share an easy back and forth about how fucking crowded the clubhouse is, until she mentions how she'd just needed to get away. _Gemma,_ he decides, but searches for any hint that anything else is wrong, studies the depths of her green eyes until, reluctantly, she begins to speak.

"I'm-"

"Jackieeeeeeeee!"

_Aw, shit._ The moment's here, then- and suddenly it's as if the whole club's back here with them. He barely hears what Tara's saying, knows he'll barely remember her response, later; he just knows he's got about one smoke break to get inside, knows that they can't have this conversation, not now.. Then, Chibs' voice comes again, and he's tugging at Tara's hand- if he's gonna be a Son, he wants it to be with her there beside him.

Except… she pulls him back, sending his heart lurching into his throat and his stomach somewhere into his shoes. She's nervous, he can tell- almost as nervous as he is, and suddenly, he doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want to know what it is she has to say-

"I'm just want you to know I'm proud of you, Jackson, no matter what happens."

They'd exchanged other words since he'd been out here.

But it's _these _words- spoken as she lifts wide moss-green eyes to his- that seem to echo in the scant space between the two of them and fully pulls him into the present, into her. Though what she's said reverberates someplace within Jax, too until it seems as if he'll hear it forever, he's okay with that- at the moment he feels like he could go the rest of his life without the approval of anyone but her. Still, the rational part of his brain knows that it's mere seconds before she goes on to outline the second part of what she's saying- the_ but._

"You've done everything you ever wanted, and I'm so happy for you, baby." A thousand thoughts rush through him the blink of an eye- _Christ, why do you sound like my mother_ being one- but the response that propels him forward and has him crushing her to his chest so hard that he feels the breath leave her as he leans in, is also the one that actually comes out of his mouth.

"It ain't the only thing I ever wanted."

Jax knows what she'd meant- hell, for once he even knows what _he'd _meant the moment he'd fixed his mouth to say it- but there's no time to discuss any of the other things he wants out of life or any of what they'll have to do to get them… Still, he'll be damned if he lets that comment slide. Not now, not ever- especially since he's had to spend the last few months proving to his future brothers that his head's in the game. So he prevents further discussion- and, hopefully, snuffs out all doubt in Tara's mind- by dragging his lips across her impossibly soft cheek and pressing them to hers far more gently than he'd like.

She responds almost instantly, melting against him in that way she always did when they'd gone more than several hours without touching each other, and Jax has to force himself to concentrate on something- anything- else... Like he used to back when they'd first discovered the effect they were capable of having on each other and he'd have to start thinking about photosynthesis or some shit so he didn't find himself popping wood right there in the middle of the CHS hallway.. Like they're fucking sixteen on her front steps and he's having to force himself to let go of her before Rick yanks the door open and tells her to get her ass inside.

Like the entirety of SAMCRO is waiting somewhere inside, to tell him whether or not he's earned his Reaper and top rocker.

_Jesus._

Quickly sobering, he still barely manages to drag himself away, especially after Tara licks her lower lip. Her eyes are still closed while Jax bites back a groan despite all the common sense rushing back into his brain- and he has to settle, yet again, for the condensed version of everything he suddenly wants to say.

"I love you, Tara."

Because he _does_\- beyond years, and miles and the shit that might someday come between them. And when her answer is breathless but sure, Jax can't help but close his eyes in relief…

Relief that lasts only a moment before she's whispering against his lips-

"You better go, they'll be waiting."

There it is- the feeling of dread that had tinted the edges of every thought he'd had the past twenty four hours or more, the creeping doubt that had nearly doubled when Opie had said what he'd said at the prison and receded only when Tara had looked him dead in the eye and steadfastly told him everything he didn't know he'd needed to hear for a long time now. It's back, even with the knowledge that she's right- he needs to get his ass moving or it might not even matter what they've decided. And so he gulps down a steadying breath and pushes away the part of him that, even now, would rather stay back here in the darkness behind the clubhouse and ferret out exactly what that look is in Tara's eyes as he takes a step away from her.

"We're both goin', babe- 'cause when I walk out of Church with that reaper on my back, the first thing I want to see is my old lady."

Jax doesn't wait for her response- he can't, it's been somewhere close to five minutes and he's got to get inside and face the music- so he slaps on a smirk he isn't sure he feels, what with shit about to become strikingly, heart stoppingly real, and grabs her hand again, pulling her along after him as he weaves through the boxes in the storage room off the kitchen. The kitchen itself is deserted compared to the last time he'd been in here, but Jax barely notices- focused as he is on his destination and the cool slip of Tara's fingers between his. _One, two, three, four, five, six _steps is all it takes to cross it and reach the open door to the rest of the clubhouse.

The place is packed as he'd ever seen it; croweaters, old ladies and a few hangarounds line the edges, Uncle Jury and a few of his guys JT had served in 'Nam with occupy a few of the tables, but nearly everyone truly important to him is gathered near the bar. Jax pauses in the doorway a moment, eyes scanning the mass of black leather near the bar and resting briefly on each little group as they celebrate what he hopes is his patch-in party without him- little vignettes of his family in this moment in time, like some sort of fucked up Norman Rockwell painting- bizarre in the best sort of way.

Tig, leaning on a pool stick and half doubled over with laughter as Kozik pulls a blushing Dr. Carlson into his embrace so he can run a hand up her back, raising an emphatic middle finger that makes Tig laugh even harder.

Bobby, finishing off the world's ugliest joint and brandishing it out of Chibs' reach- then chuckling at the jumble of Gaelic that comes when he asks the other man for a light.

Gemma holding court behind the bar- one hand draped over Trinity's shoulders, the other clutching a rocks glass and a smoldering cigarette- laughing at something Luann says.

Opie, sprawled on the ancient leather couch and absently peeling the label off his beer bottle- with Donna half-curled into him on the arm of the couch, their heads bowed together.

Then- almost as if in slow motion- the heavy Chapel doors swing open and everything comes to a stop, this blasphemous Rockwell scene stilling until it eerily resembles the painting he'd imagined. The place is silent- almost deafeningly so after the pleasantly loud buzz that had been filling it a moment before- and if Jax didn't know better, he'd say the still air is fairly roaring in his ears. He has an odd, fleeting thought that maybe this was what it was like right after you pulled the pin in a grenade, that dread now that the deed is done and you're drowning in silence past the point of no return… almost wishing for the explosion to hurry the fuck up so the blessed chaos and the noise can return.

Just as he's wondering, distractedly, if that's where the expression _you could hear a pin drop_ had come from, JT and Piney seem to shift into focus. They're hovering inside the Chapel doors- arms folded, faces somber- and Jesus Christ, Jax hadn't even managed to register the absence of his father or the man that's been as-good-as. _Why the hell had they been in there alone? _The two exchange a look- one Jax can't read any easier than the one Ope's currently burning into the side of his head- and then his father's eyes rest briefly on him before taking in the room at large.

"Alright boys, that'll be about enough," JT says, grimly, his voice almost seeming to echo in the room. "We got to get this shit out of the way."

The room seems to be filled with the scraping sound of chairs and bar stools being pushed back as all of the patched members rise- sober all at once- to head towards the chapel. Jax is only marginally aware of Tara's hand squeezing his own before Opie catches his eye from across the room. Nodding, Jax swallows and drops a distracted kiss on the back of her hand- keeping his palm from shaking takes more effort than he'd planned- and meets his fellow prospect a few feet behind the others.

"Well this don't look good," Ope mutters, jamming his hands in his pockets as they trail along after Kozik and Tig.

"Yeah, no shit," is all Jax can say in return- because, really, the sinking feeling in his gut is beginning to rob him of his ability to take a full breath and he has to settle for shallow ones that limit his words and tighten his chest so that the thumping of his heart against it is almost painful.

And then, they're inside- the only ones standing in a room full of Sons- and again, Jax is struck by just how fucking quiet it is in here. The few times he'd been allowed in here before, there had been the usual easy, quick-witted banter- most of which had devolved into shit-talking by the time JT had struck the gavel. Tonight, though, nobody's even lit a cigarette; actually, nobody's moving at _all _except for JT, who gestures towards the foot of the reaper table and the the empty space that had been left behind by Otto. The journey there seems to take forever, but finally, wordlessly, Jax and Opie come to a halt behind the empty chair.

As they wait, stood side by side like they've been doing pretty much everything since they were old enough to walk, JT takes a slow, steady breath and holds it, his fingers flexing around the gavel. Christ, Piney's looking irascible as ever, Tig's got a faint smirk hinting at his lips, and Chibs- his own goddamn sponsor- can't even look him in the eye… and Jax doesn't even want to begin to think about what the hell that all means. He chances a sideways glance at Ope and isn't surprised to see his friend with his jaw clenched, the tense jut of his chin visible even beneath his beard. Shit, at least he isn't alone.

When JT does speak, it's unexpected, somehow, and Jax is proud that he doesn't jump, doesn't flinch, just lets the words roll off him.

"We're here tonight to discuss the matter of Jackson Nathaniel Teller and Harry Opie Winston, and the ending of the prospect period in the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, Redwood Original." JT pauses, lets the full name of the club resonate in the chapel before continuing, gesturing to the other members gathered around the table. "Now, as you know, every active, patched member of the club has gathered here to vote- to determine whether you'll move forward and patch into the club, need to extend your prospecting time, or… " JT's voice falters, and he clears his throat, avoiding Jax's gaze altogether. "Or- if we need to part ways with you now, rather than later."

Jax has the sudden urge to swallow, and Christ if it isn't like swallowing knives- each of them ramming down his throat and trying to find their way around the enormously hard lump that seems to have taken up residence just south of his Adam's apple.

"Right. Well, no need to prolong this any further. Piney-"

The name's barely past his lips when Piney's slamming a meaty paw down on the table, forcing nearly everyone in the room to flinch.

"Take off your cuts." Piney roughs, sounding a bit like he's having trouble swallowing as well. _Jesus, does this mean- _"Leave 'em on the table in front of you." _Leave_ them?

Jax no longer has space to think about what he's doing, _why_ he's doing it- but he's pretty sure something inside of him is setting up the racket he hears somewhere between his ears as he shrugs out of his kutte and lays it gingerly on the table. Half a second later, Opie's is beside it, but Jax can't bring himself to look at his friend- standing there as he knows he is without the kutte that's seemed to grow a part of him for the past year. Christ, he's pretty sure the only times it had come off besides to sleep or shower had been up at the prison, and even then he, Jax, had been charged with its safekeeping. But now…

_Now_, Piney's nodding at the kuttes in front of them like they're offending him somehow, his lip curling in a way Jax had only really seen him do when talking to Clay or Rick.

"Cut that prospect patch off."

They hesitate- just long enough for Piney to half-rise out of his seat- and he doesn't have to say anything else because Jax finds himself searching in his jeans pocket for the pocket knife he always carries, can sense Opie beside him doing the same. Then, they're setting to work, burrowing the knives behind the thick satin of the prospect rocker, popping the stitches one by one until Jax feels as abandoned, as untethered as the patch he now holds in his hands; separated from the soft, thick leather it had been melded with for the first time since he'd owned either.

He's picking the patch up, rubbing it between a finger and a thumb, when his father can't seemingly watch the misery anymore and shoves back in his chair to turn away, to turn his back on him. Chibs moves as if to touch his arm, maybe to see if he's okay- though Jax doesn't much care about that either- and JT jerks away, moving towards the near corner to lean against the small safe they kept in there, a mere few feet from Jax.

As Opie finishes up, the faint metallic scrape of the knife against the leather producing a shiver at the base of Jax's spine he somehow manages to bite back, Jax assesses the table of men who had ultimately decided not to patch him in. Kozik's distressed, Bobby's looking regretful, and Tig's fucking smirking- Jax makes a mental note to knock the fuck out of him as soon as they leave the clubhouse; Son or no, he isn't a prospect anymore and he's been itching to do it practically since he'd met the guy- and he's pretty confident he can at least put the guy on the ground. Piney's still got that disgusted look on his face but Chibs is looking nearly unhinged, his slicked-back hair wrecked with finger tracks. Figures- Chibs had been his sponsor, and it's got to fucking suck to know the prospect you put a years' worth of time and advice into had ultimately failed hard enough to get kicked out of the club altogether.

When Piney speaks again, his voice is gentler, steadier- like he'd chosen his words carefully and had been preparing to say them for much longer than Jax knows he had- and he takes a moment to look each of them fully in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jax… Son," he says to Jax and Opie, in turn, "but we ain't gonna be askin' you to continue your prospect period. Go ahead and put your patches on the table too…" Piney waits for the patch to flutter from Jax's fingertips and land on the leather below before nodding- this time with a finality.

"And replace 'em with _these_."

JT's voice comes from somewhere behind his right shoulder, but Jax doesn't have time to place it because suddenly, his father is there beside him, reaching across him twice to drop something onto the backs of both the kuttes in front of him. Jax blinks once, twice, and then it registers; atop his kutte is a crisp, new set of patches- top rocker, bottom rocker, and the death's head, the fucking _Reaper_ staring back up at him, its faint grin seeming to say _I told you so._

And then all hell breaks loose but his father's hugging him, clapping his back and squeezing almost tighter than Jax can stand.

"I love you, Jackson, and I'm so proud to call you my son." The words have barely made their way into his ear when Piney's brushing past them on his way to Ope, everyone else is laughing uproariously and pounding on the table… Christ, not much even registers after that- at some point, JT and Piney back away and shake hands- ostensibly congratulating each other on raising sons that hadn't managed to get themselves kicked out of their own fathers' club. That's when Chibs replaces him, crowing something Gaelic-sounding and otherwise unintelligible other than the requisite _Jackie Boy_. He's followed by Kozik, Bobby, and even Tig, whose snicker is a little less caustic than usual, even if the hug is followed by a headlock.

"God_damn_, we got you fuckers _good_! You shoulda seen your faces..." he howls, ribs shaking with laughter against Jax's head.

"Oh yeah, Tiggy?" somebody- Bobby, maybe- offers from behind them. "Well, somethin' had to take our minds off the way you practically teared up when we did that shit to you,"

"Yeah, just like your mom tears up when she's chokin' on my co-"

"Aaaalright, boys, take a step back and let 'em breathe a minute- we still got one piece of business to attend to." JT's saying, a smile in his voice, squeezing Jax on the shoulder before making his way back around the table amidst the other Sons making their way back to stand behind their places as well. Then, he's seizing the gavel in his hand and holding it aloft, grinning broadly before assessing Jax and Opie one more time.

"Jackson Nathaniel Teller, Harry Opie Winston… Welcome to SAMCRO."

* * *

It's nearly a half hour later before Jax really gets the chance to breathe- mobbed from the moment Chibs had opened the Chapel door. Gemma had been first, of course, had practically knocked the wind out of him before reluctantly turning him over to Tara, who he'd barely gotten to lay a kiss on before Uncle Jury had tapped him on his shoulder and dragged him away to greet his crew. After that, he'd completely lost track of both Tara and Ope, shuffled around as he'd been- shaking hands, hugging, accepting congratulations- and it wasn't until JT had whistled for attention and ordered everyone out for a club ride that he'd caught his breath.

Now- in formation behind Kozik, next to Opie, with the summer night's breeze at his back and his father at the head of the pack- he feels like he's taking his first real breath for months. Gone is the worry about whether he'll patch in, whether he'll make his father proud or his mother happy- at least for now; absent is the constant, careful, moderation of his thoughts, the vigilant compartmentalization of the events of the past couple years. He's a Son- one with access to all the knowledge everyone else has and finally the patch that says he's got a vote and a voice as well… and the freedom of that is something he'd never anticipated.

They ride down Main Street- past Floyd's and out to the edge of town, past the diner, the Salty Dog and St. Thomas and onto 580 until Jax finally realizes, somehow, where they're headed. He's surprised, really, that they're headed anywhere- he'd figured on taking a cruise around town as a formality, but that's about it. Now, though, it's apparent where JT's leading them even before he slows down for the curve, and even before his tires touch the gravel of the over large pull off at the side of the highway. He doesn't move for a moment, except to shut off his bike, and Jax has a fleeting image of how they must look to any nonexistent passers by- a bunch of Sons in black leather, gathered in front of a large rock face at the side of the road just beyond a fairly sharp curve… like they're lying in wait for someone.

_Someone _never comes- unless you want to count the ghost of what could have been. _That _spectre looms large as JT swings his leg over his bike and stands, staring at the rock face like it holds the answers, can give him the words Jax knows he's searching for. Slowly, the others dismount, gathering behind their President when he begins to speak without turning around.

"It's almost twenty years ago the First Nine came to Charming, and I don't think we had a goddamn clue what this all would turn into- I know_ I _didn't." JT chuckles, derisively, as he turns to face them. "Suffice it to say, we had some rough times- and I made some bad decisions; decisions that ended with brothers in prison, or dead."

"Wasn't just you, brother... a full table-" Piney volunteers, hoarsely, and JT nods, instantly, cutting him off.

"Full-table votes agreed upon by the whole club, you're right- though as President, every one of those decisions ultimately lands at my feet. We took risks we never had business taking, once we had old ladies and kids- got into bed with a group that never gave a shit whether we lived or died and eventually worked real fuckin' hard towards havin' us dead." He grimaces, knowing what's coming next. "But my biggest mistake, my _worst_ decisions, were all my own- I checked out on my club when they needed me… and I trusted Clay Morrow. I trusted him as a member of this club, I trusted him with my family, and I trusted him with my life… and it took almost dying right over there three and a half years ago, to finally make it all clear to me." JT's eyes travel to the edge of the road, and Jax shivers, involuntarily. His father's right- they'd come very close to this moment never happening. Christ, who knows what would have happened- would he have patched SAMCRO at all, with Clay as President?

"It's taken a while to get this club a whole lot closer to what we envisioned it as, way back then- something I'd be proud to have my son a part of- and I can say without a doubt that it's because of every single one of you." JT lets his eyes roam over the group, one by one. "I trust you to have my back, and I trust you to have my son's as well-" his eyes land on Jax and Opie, standing at the back of the group. "And I know without a doubt that they'll have yours, too, just like they've had each other's since before they could walk." Beside him, Ope bumps him with a shoulder, and Jax knows with a certainty everything JT's just said is true.

"Anyway, enough of the mushy shit- even if we are just a little closer to the right side of the law than we used to be, and even if we are at least partially earning straight-" a chuckle rumbles through the group as JT reaches into his kutte pocket and produces a can of spray paint. "Redwood Original's about brotherhood and about family, but our roots will always be in anarchy."

The hoots and hollers that arise into the night as JT imprints the familiar, blue, anarchy symbol onto the rock face seem to hang in the air long after they've turned back towards town.

Even as the minutes turn into miles, the reality behind what his father had said- what they'd almost missed out on and the importance of brotherhood- seems to follow Jax all the way back to Teller-Winston. As they roll through the gate and onto the familiar lot where practically everyone else that's important to him waits, Jax smiles at the sight of the sign- of his and his best friend's last names up there in neon- and knows, too, that being here with Ope makes all of this even better.

Ope's evidently feeling the same, evidenced by his goofy fucking grin as they park- up front, this time- and watch the others head into the clubhouse.

"So that happened," Jax says, bemused, and reaching into his kutte pocket for his smokes.

"Yeah, we shoulda known they'd fuck with us, though- I mean, you're the Prince and I'm the VP's kid." Jax laughs, shaking his head and lighting up.

"I was about to knock the fuck outta Tig, I know that." A moment later, though, he sobers, takes a long drag as he gathers his thoughts. "I meant the field trip out to JT's accident site, though. The shit he said out there…" Jax shrugs, not really knowing how to finish the sentence without sounding like a complete fucking pussy- and really, JT had already said it so well himself. Opie just snorts, closing the short distance between them and pulling Jax into a hug that rivals JT's from earlier, squeezing the breath and the protests right out of him.

"I always knew you were emotionally stunted," Ope scoffs somewhere above his ear, "I've been watchin' you try to figure out how to feel shit since we were kids." Opie retreats, then, assesses Jax with narrowed eyes, and suddenly, Jax knows exactly how to finish his thought from earlier.

"I love you, Ope- there ain't nobody I'd rather share this patch with than you."

There's a long pause… and then Ope's laughing, bent near double as Jax halts in confusion. It's a moment before he recovers, and then he's seizing Jax's shoulder and shaking his head.

"Well no shit, Sherlock. And I love you too, you're my best friend. But you did have one thing wrong."

"What's that?" Ope turns slightly, jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the new expanse of black that seems to stretch forever now that the prospect patch is gone.

"Neither one of us are wearin' a patch yet, and we won't be until we go find our old ladies and convince 'em to give us a hand with sewin' 'em on." Now it's Jax's turn to snort, finishing his cigarette and flicking the butt away into the darkness before starting towards the clubhouse.

"Yeah, good luck with that one. Besides, Gemma's probably out buyin' thread as we speak."

"Shit, the way she's been lately, she'll probably skip the kutte altogether and try to iron it on our goddamn backs."

Jax doesn't respond, but something about what Ope's just said takes root, plants a seed of a thought- a kutte that can never be taken off, a reaper that will always be behind him, have his back just like the club does. The idea has him grinning, walking with the old Jax Teller swagger he felt like he'd lost a while back as they enter the clubhouse amid cheers and toasts, and suddenly Tara catches his eye, emerging from behind the bar and marching forward like she owns the place.

Christ, she's _dressed_ like she fuckin' owns the place- a vision in a black tank top and boots, and a pair of tight jeans he's pretty sure he's seen somewhere in a wet dream- and damn him for being so preoccupied in the dark of the back lot that he hadn't really taken the time to look.

But here she is, his girl- shit, his _old lady_ now- rapidly closing the distance between them and reaching up to wrap her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck; claiming him right there in front of everyone, like she's never done before. Her lips are hot, instantly opening wide beneath his, and she tastes like whiskey and smoke and everything he's ever wanted; his arms instinctively wrap around her waist and the sound of the crowd becomes near-deafening. Still, he drags his lips up to her ear, mumbles the only thing currently on his rapidly one-track mind- _you're so fuckin' hot, Babe_\- and pulls back to watch in amusement as she leers back at him… more than a little drunk, he realizes, belatedly.

"You think?" The devilish curl to the corners of her grin, the way her green eyes seem to darken- pupils already blown… Christ, the way she's flushed with alcohol, excitement, and lust have him practically ready to beg right here in the middle of the clubhouse.

"Smokin'..." is all Jax manages to answer before she rises on her toes to kiss him again, keeps it up even as he scoops her up and carries on kissing her all the way to the back hallway. And suddenly, the final piece falls into place. He'd patched into his father's club, gained Ope and all the rest as official brothers, felt like he'd come full circle from JT's accident, Clay's death and everything that had come since… but with Tara in his arms, it finally all feels like Home.

* * *

If there's one thing Jax has noticed about being a fully patched member of SAMCRO versus a prospect… it's that not a whole lot has changed; as the club's most junior members, he and Ope are still stuck with the most shit details- the Friday evening protection runs up to nowhere, California, when most of the rest of the club is tying one on over at the clubhouse, for example. Or the graveyard watch shift over at the new warehouse the club's dummy corporation had just purchased to house its various semi-legal goods.

Or, he thinks with a sigh as they pull into the lot, manual fucking labor at Luann's porn studio. In all actuality, half the rest of the club is jumping at the opportunity to bask in the presence of porn stars even if it meant busting their asses dragging heavy equipment across a scorching hot parking lot- an opportunity Jax is more than willing to give up, if he's being honest. But ever since Otto had let him back in a few weeks ago the day of the patch in party, Opie's been more determined than ever to keep his promise to watch out for Luann,and JT had obliged him, hadn't even had to tell Jax to tag along. And really, there _is _an upside- a Saturday not spent on long runs and late night details means actually getting to see Tara awake for the first significant amount of time since he'd patched in, and he's anxious to get this the fuck over with so he can go home and surprise her.

"That it over there?" Jax calls over the last sputters of the engine as he cuts it off, squinting against the late afternoon sun at a cluster of what looks like set pieces across the lot from the heavy double doors. Ope eyes them as well, then digs in his pocket for a moment before coming up with a scrap of paper.

"Looks like it- says the guy should have been here to deliver the shit about fifteen minutes from now." Ope scratches his beard with a shrug. "Guess he must've been early. Anyway, we got to make sure it's all here and then carry it inside- Luann said she'd have her assistant and a couple of the actors set it up later."

"I'm startin' to think she gets off on givin' us orders just as much as my mom does," Jax snickers, hoisting himself off his bike. "She could've just had 'em take care of this shit, too."

"Naw, they're not workin' today- it's Luann's day to see Otto, but I guess this is the only day they could be delivered and ever since the thing with the camera guy… well, she don't trust hardly anyone anymore." Right. The camera guy and his buddies had ballooned into an ordeal that had ultimately resulted in Otto taking them out and getting arrested for murder- which was the whole reason he's in prison and Luann's on her own in the first place.

"Yeah, I guess I don't blame her for that…" Jax trails off, assessing the amount of work in front of them- not bad, maybe an hour's worth, give or take. And at least there are no porn stars milling around, throwing him suggestive looks and getting in the goddamn way; he's a red-blooded American male- one that has been enjoying more than his fair share of female attention since he was too young to drive- but some of those girls were a little… much.

"Yup." Opie's silent a moment, folding the list into his palm and dismounting from his bike, and Jax feels a sudden need to change the subject, steer Ope away from where he knows his mind's inevitably going- Otto's ordeal- and onto something more positive.

"So Dad said some of the Nomads are gonna be up in Tacoma when we head up there to firm up that casino deal between the Wahewa and the Puyallup." Ope glances at him sideways and nods, as if he's daft.

"Yup." _What's your point,_ he doesn't say.

"Said we'll be up there most of a week- Quinn's handling some of the go-between… and Happy's providing the muscle, if they need it." Jax waits a minute, lets this sink in, and is rewarded with the moment when his point finally dawns on Opie.

"You're thinkin' Hap could do our tats while we're up there." It's a statement, not a question, and Jax grins in response, even as Opie follows it up with another.

"You know we could just go over to Chester's and take care of it- it's where the club's been gettin' ink since before we were born."

"Yup." It's Jax's turn to be vague, choosing instead to hoist up his end of some unexpectedly heavy piece of metal and canvas, letting the silence linger as they shuffle all the way from the collection of equipment to the back door, as they set it back onto the pavement, and as Opie shuffles through the keys on his key ring before finally choosing one and opening the double doors.

"That's all you're gonna say? Yup?" Jax flashes a middle finger in the moment he has before he lifts his end of the piece, and once again, they're distracted by the effort. It isn't until they've deposited it in the studio and are heading back across the lot for another, that he ventures, maybe too casually-

"Chester does good work, he did Tommy's memorial piece-" Jax gestures at his bicep, the site of his first tattoo- "but I guess I just figured this one… Well, it's the whole patch, man- like a kutte that never comes off." _Even when I got to sit at another club's table for a couple years,_ he doesn't say. He shrugs under Opie's scrutiny as they halt in front of the pile of set pieces again. "The club's a part of us like it isn't with anyone else- we're the first members that grew up SAMCRO, and I guess I figure this tat will show that, you know? I just… well, I want a Son to do the work, for this one." He quiets as Opie assesses him, thoughtfully stroking his beard- Christ, the guy really is too stoic for his own good- and then the grin appears, slowly at first, and all of a sudden Ope's chuckling and cuffing him on the shoulder.

"You nostalgic motherfucker," is all he says before he picks up one end of the next set piece, the weight straining his voice. "You're right- we'll get Hap to do it, just as soon as we figure out what the hell happened to your- _Jesus_, hurry up and grab the other end…"

The next hour or so goes quickly as they alternate hauling Luann's equipment with a couple cigarette breaks and discussion about the tattoo that's become clear as day in Jax's mind these first couple weeks as a patched member. He's almost itching to get it- to have the evidence of his newfound brotherhood etched into his skin, and if he's being honest with himself, he's really hating the wait. He watches as Opie locks up, and they head back to their bikes finished for the day before dinnertime, for once.

Jax is buckling his helmet- wondering, idly, if Tara's done at the clinic yet- when a car approaches behind them, slowing enough to turn into the lot. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him it's Luann's flashy-ass Corvette;_ fuck...h_e stifles a groan. Luann's his mother's best friend, and for good reason: she's a little too dedicated to her role as the SAMCRO gossip queen, and a lot overbearing- and he'd been hoping to escape without having to deal without her, especially if Tara's done for the day. Opie catches his expression and huffs out a sardonic laugh- and it's then Jax notices he hadn't even bothered to climb onto his bike.

"I told Luann I'd stick around when she gave me the list, see what Otto had to say today," he says, by way of explanation. "He asked me last time I was up there to see that she wasn't overwhelmed with all this lawyer shit, and I guess Rosen was meetin' with both of 'em during today's visit." Christ, if there's one thing Jax doesn't know if he'll ever be up for, it's the prospect of an entire one-on-one session of listening to Luann bitch about Rosen's handling of Otto's case; as it is, its all she and Gemma have talked about lately. Ope snorts, correctly assessing Jax's state of mind, and waves towards the street as Luann gets out of her car, waggling a few fingers at them. "Go on, get outta here- I know you and Tara ain't had much _alone time_ lately." He practically croons this last bit, which Jax ignores because time is of the essence.

"You sure?" Jax bites back the _please, God,_ that's on the tip of his tongue but sends up the unspoken prayer anyway.

"Yup. She said she'd bring me somethin' to eat, and then I got to head out anyway to pick up Donna after her shift- her lease is up and Mike, you know, the owner of the Salty Dog?" Jax nods. "He invested in some duplexes on this side of town and he's got one openin' up soon- but he said to be quick about it because his wife's pushin' hard to get her sister moved in there."

"A duplex, huh? Becomin' a Son's got you thinkin' you're too good for apartments all of a sudden?" Jax can't help the smirk that touches his lips even though Opie glares, but there's little actual animosity behind it.

"Yeah, well, a pregnancy scare'll get you thinkin' about how much room you're gonna need someday, you know?" Yeah, Jax guesses he does know.

"Shit, man, are you thinkin' about-"

"Naw," Ope returns, a small smile reappearing. "Not any time soon, anyway. But we had to talk about it, you know? Figured it was only a matter of time before we make things official, and then you know what everyone's gonna expect to happen next…" He shrugs, and Jax has but a moment to realize that the twinge he feels in some hidden place inside him is probably jealousy, before Opie looks over his shoulder. "Here she comes- you better take off."

Right.

"A'ight, man. See you tomorrow… unless you want me to stick around." Ope just grins and lights another cigarette.

"I got this."

* * *

Jax parks down the block in the small, gravel customer lot for the clinic and palms the key to his bike- not that most of Charming would have the balls to touch it anyway. He's feeling pretty fucking good, really, especially upon noticing that the windows to the old Victorian that houses the vet clinic itself are darkened, and that the Cutlass is in it's spot. The thought produces a grin and a jolt of anticipation at the knowledge that Tara's at home he'd never admit out loud; between her work schedule and his, plus the finals that have wound down over the past weeks and the overall… whatever it was between them recently- he's felt like he's had a Tara-sized hole in his chest lately, and he's more than anxious to remedy it.

Jax rounds the corner of the clinic and takes the wooden steps up to the apartment two at a time, the wide-ass smile he's learned over the years onlyTara can drag out of him spreading even before he hits the top. Shit, he's practically beaming by the time he lays a hand on the doorknob and pushes in.

She's at the small table in the kitchen- her head bent over a sheaf of papers- but Jax doesn't stop moving when she looks up, startled, her green eyes wide, lush pink lips slightly open in her surprise… and he has to bite back a groan as he watches her catch on to what he's after. He barely manages to elbow the door closed behind him before he's stalking across the apartment to haul her to her feet, pull her bodily against him, and kiss her senseless. It's a moment before his hands leave her hips and bury themselves in her hair, but he knows they will even before it happens. Christ it's not like he's even got control of it anymore; he's spent the past nearly-four-years of his life kissing her like this, and it's always when he begins to lose himself in the sheer fucking heaven that is her mouth.

Moments tick by, stretch into minutes as he sets about thoroughly possessing her mouth with his own; he can't seem to stop his tongue from delving deeper, tasting her in ways he'd been missing for what seems like forever now that they're completely alone and fully conscious. Doesn't want to stop her delicate fingers from pushing his kutte from his shoulders, or sliding their way underneath his t-shirt and outlining the muscles of his back. He's opening his eyes and grinning against her lips at the thought of her fingers playing over the dark lines of his reaper tattoo that would soon adorn it, backing her into the kitchen table- intent on sweeping its contents to the floor and taking her right here, right now- when he _does_ stop, as the header of one of the papers catches his eye.

_University of California: Scholarship Committee_

Tara's hand is still drifting in the vicinity of his shoulders- and he's still uncomfortably rock-hard, which is fucking distracting- as he inhales quickly and bites the bullet, skims the rest he can see that's not half-under Tara's hip before he can talk himself out of it.

_Ms Knowles,_

_We'd like to congratulate you on your academic achievements, and your early admission into the University of California system of schools…_

_...it is the pleasure of the committee to extend to you this full tuition scholarship beginning the upcoming 1997-1998 school year. It is our hope you will accept this scholarship, and begin…_

Holy fuck, he can't read any more. Doesn't have to… shit, yes he does. Breath coming in short bursts, Jax scans the letter for a date- and finds it at the top- _December, _though he can't see the rest._._

She'd gotten this letter in fucking December, and hadn't mentioned it to him- blindly, he pushes against her arms and stumbles back, uncaring in the moment just how rough he'd really been while pushing her away. He closes his eyes, silently begging for the room to stop spinning, for the strength he'd managed to build up over the past six months to remain with him now- because he can't afford to have a fucking breakdown, can't allow himself to give in to the despair that's already gnawing at the edges of his consciousness now that the evidence she's leaving him is right there in front of him, in black and white.

"Jax?"

Jax's eyes pop open as if she'd shouted his name and startled him awake from some deep sleep; as it is, though, Tara's voice is soft, tremulous- about the furthest thing from shouting. When he finally focuses on her, it takes a few moments to gather his faculties but he has to grit his teeth against the tendrils of lust that still tint the vision of her, all flushed skin, tousled hair, and kiss-swollen lips. _Jesus, get it together, Teller._

"When exactly were you plannin' on tellin' me you were leaving?"

And there it is, he thinks grimly; no bullshit, no showing his cards and letting her see just how close he is to losing his shit. Fuck, even if he wanted to, he can't afford do that- not now. His internal pep talk, however, is cut short by the look of sheer confusion that washes over Tara's face right before she sinks down onto the table top… And the look of guilt that follows shortly thereafter, as her fingers- scrabbling to grip the edge of the table- come to rest on the papers beneath her. It's like being doused in cold water, his arousal's gone so quickly, yanked out from underneath him by the knowledge that she's been keeping things- keeping _this_\- from him.

"Jax, I-"

"No bullshit, Tara," Jax demands, the steely anger in his voice sounding foreign, even to his own ears; Tara winces, which only serves to finish convincing him he'd been right and she's guilty as hell. The thought has the anger welling up anew, the rage coating the edges of his vision, and he has to make an effort to keep his voice under control, to keep from shouting at her. As a result, his next words come out quieter, and deadly calm. "No more _lies_, Tara, no more _secrets_. _Are. You. Leaving. Me._" It isn't a question, but a demand- one she responds to immediately.

"No, baby- no." Tara's voice is firm, but plaintive, and she's on her feet before he has time to think, reaching for him before his self preservation has the chance to kick in and tell his body to dodge her. She rests a palm on his cheek and _Jesus Christ_, he can't help flinching at her touch; he can see the moment when her heart breaks just a little at his reaction to a gesture that would have been welcomed just minutes ago ; and despite his anger, he hates himself for the tears that well up in her eyes. He'd never been able to stand seeing her cry and had vowed long ago that he'd never be the reason. Guess a lot's changing today.

"How can you say that, when the evidence is right there on the table, Tara?' Shrugging off her hand, Jax pushes past her to the table to snatch up the letter he'd seen- only to be confronted with another underneath it- this one from Cal State- and another from Stanford. Mind reeling, his eyes roam over these, in turn, snagging on phrases like accepted, offer, and scholarship before he whirls on Tara, hand shaking as he clutches the papers in a fist. "These are for this fall, Babe. I mean, did you even land on what fuckin' school you were goin' to before you made the decision to leave me behind?" Then, another thought occurs to him- worse, by far, than the hundreds of others currently racing through his mind- and he staggers back a half step, almost physically ill at something he'd never, _ever_ had reason to ask before now. He almost can't say it, with the bile rising in his throat the way it is, but the tearful, guilty look on Tara's face pushes him that one last inch- though it comes out nearly a whisper. "Christ, did you ever even love me at all?"

It's instant, the way the rage spreads over Tara's face, like touching a match to a pool of kerosene and watching as the conflagration consumes everything in its path; but given the suspicion that had just wrecked him, Jax just can't will himself to stop it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She's glaring at him, her voice low in its disbelief, but trembling like its about to break. "Can you just shut up and _listen_ for once before you start jumping to conclusions? Jesus Christ, the _minute_ you think something isn't going according to plan, you're-"

_Fuck it._

"Well that's the problem, here, isn't it, Tara? The_ plan_? You know, the one we made, _together,_ almost two years ago. The one you decided wasn't good en-"

"_Stop it!"_

Tara's shriek slices through him, stops him dead- and he steps back, hands raised as if to give her leave to go on, get this the hell over with- though the fact that he's currently about to grind his teeth into powder stays a fucking constant.

"_Listen. To. Me._" Tara fixes him with a withering glare that rivals even Gemma's, and it's all Jax can do to cross his arms and keep his mouth shut under her scrutiny. "I applied for admission back when I applied for the scholarships this fall- you know, like both the counselor over at CHS and the one at Charming Community advised me to? The point was to get an idea what they'd offer me so that _we_-" she gestures, pointedly, at the two of them, "- could get a better idea about where I could go. Where_ we_ could go. I have until August first to defer, and then we'll have all year to work that out." Jax releases the breath he's felt like he's been holding since Tara had interrupted him, slow and steady; it isn't an unreasonable explanation, really, but it still doesn't explain everything. Then, another image flashes across his mind like some sort of grotesque marquee- the date of the letters, months ago- and he's shaking his head slowly.

"So then why hide them from me, Tara? Why didn't you just tell me as soon as you got them, so we could make our plans together?"

"Because of _this!_ This right here, Jax- you _always_ do this... " Tara's all but vibrating with exasperation and rage in front of him, frustrated tears streaming down her cheeks, and all he can do is watch. "You jump to conclusions, decide how _you're_ going to handle things, what works best for what _you_ think the situation is… and you never stop to ask yourself what you might be overlooking." She laughs, a mirthless sound that seems to ricochet through the silent apartment like a gunshot.

"The day I got the letters, they were waiting for me in the clubhouse- they'd been sent there instead of here since I didn't have a permanent address yet. I read them… read them about three times, actually, and I was _happy_, Jax- I'd gotten a full ride scholarship to pretty much any public university in the state. Do you know what that _means_ to someone in my financial situation- someone with the goals and dreams I have? I was excited, and happy, and I wanted to share it with you- of _course_ I did- but then Donna pulled me aside and told me she thought she might be pregnant. And the next chance I had to talk to you, that stupid conversation about the run rules happened… and by the end of the night when you hadn't come back to the clubhouse, I was just too tired- I barely realized you'd come to bed."

Jax's heart seems to thud in time with each metaphorical puzzle piece as it clicks into place.

"That's what you wanted to tell me that day," he mutters, the memory of Tara taking his hand, whispering in his ear that she had news, looming anew. Defeated, he closes his eyes a moment, passes a hand down his face to give himself a chance to think before continuing. "I thought it was that you were pregnant- that test…"

"And then when you came here, telling me how you were looking forward to being a father, couldn't wait to have a baby, with _me_... " Tara raises watery eyes to his, her voice thick with tears. "How was I supposed to bring this up then? When you were standing there, having your heart broken… when I was breaking my own, just the same?" Jax's head snaps up, intent on what she's just said- _her _heart? Snorting, derisively, Tara looks away and swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand before rounding on him, fully, like she knows exactly what's going through his mind.

"_Yes_, you idiot, it broke my heart too- and the unfair thing about it is, I didn't even know I was supposed to be pregnant in the first place before you made me wish I was- with your stupid, perfect speech about how you'd always be there for me, and how you couldn't wait to meet our baby. And the worst thing is, _you _got to go fuck off on your Dyna somewhere and deal with it on your own, while I was left here longing for a baby that never actually existed!" She's shouting again, but Jax can only stare, dumbfounded, as she continues her diatribe.

"Sick, isn't it? All the plans we've made, all the things we've given up- _will _give up- to make them happen and there I was, depressed that the one thing that could have wrecked every one of them before they even happened, wasn't to be. What sense does that make? Christ, I don't even know who I am anymore..." She's crying in earnest, now- looking much smaller now that all her bluster's been tapped out- and God, Jax can hardly stand it. Gone is the forced indifference he'd hardened his heart with mere minutes ago- the familiar urge to hold her, protect her, in its place.

"C'mere." Stalking forward, quickly closing the distance between them, he pulls her into his chest and buries one hand into her hair, wrapping the other arm protectively around her waist. Her hands rise, tentatively, to meet at his lower back, the sobs still wracking her body, and it occurs to him for the second time in under a minute just how small she really feels in his arms. Not frail; no, Tara's no shrinking violet, not with the way he'd seen her stand up to the entirety of SAMCRO years ago, and _definitely_ not with the way she'd just let him have it. It's all in the way she carries herself- tough, yet graceful- that allows him to forget, sometimes- but the way she's crying against his chest right now- hot tears soaking through his t-shirt, so fragile he feels as if she might slip away at any moment isn't something he'll soon forget. Worse, it dawns on him, suddenly, that this is the way she'd been the last few months and he hadn't fully noticed until Ope had pointed it out... _Christ._

"Shhhh," is all Jax can say before he dives too deep into self-loathing; this, he whispers against her hair before pressing a kiss in apology at the crown of her head and closing his eyes. They stand there, rocking slightly and clinging to each other like it's the last time, for several minutes, until Tara's sobs subside. When she moves to turn away from him, he follows, cupping her face in his hands so he can study hers- smooths the dark tendrils of hair away, swipes a thumb under each eye, and rests his lips briefly on her forehead.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

His whispered question's a repeat, technically- but the last time, it had been meant as a demand for answers. It had also come before she'd poured her heart out to him, before he had the knowledge he does now- and _now,_ it holds a completely different meaning… hell, _several _meanings. _Why didn't you just tell me- about the scholarship letters, about how you felt after the baby misunderstanding, about… everything?_ Retreating a few inches, he can see as she worries at her lip and knows, somehow, that she'd sussed out every single one.

"After…_ that_, I wanted to tell you. I meant to, I _planned_ to… but I just felt so- so far away from you, like you were keeping me at arms' length. I didn't know if it was because of the baby thing, or the club or-" Tara pushes out a frustrated sigh, and rests a palm on his chest to look up at him, earnestly. "It was that, and there was all this…_ shit_, going on- with school, with the club, with your_ mother-_ I didn't know what to say, or how to say it, so I just… did what I was supposed to do." Again, with the humorless laugh. "I'm an old lady now, Jax- it's what we do; we deal with shit, and we move on."

"Tara, don't-"

"And on some level, I thought maybe _this_ would happen- this conversation, this _way-_ with the yelling and the accusations and the hurt... I guess I just wanted to wait until after finals, and you patching in, and everything was all just a little bit more… settled." Tara smiles up at him, softly, "I guess that didn't work out too well, huh?" Despite himself, Jax feels the edges of his own mouth inch upwards, as well.

"Guess not," he murmurs, reaching blindly for her hand and, finding it, presses his lips against her palm. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, I- I do that, I guess, I don't think shit through. And then, I got to deal with things in my own way- and I never meant to hurt you by keeping my distance, it's just…. But you-" Tara raises a brow at his fumbling, and he carries on, ignoring the instinct that's telling him to shut up before he says something stupid.

"You do some of the same shit, Babe; you keep things to yourself until it's too late. You ask me to be this open book, but here we are, and you're the one with the secrets." The way Tara looks away a fraction of a second before she closes her eyes is a sign he's struck a nerve. "I'm a Son now, Tara- so even if I can't tell you everything, it ain't because I don't trust you. But you don't think you can trust me, when it counts, and I don't know how to deal with that shit."

"Can you really blame me, Jax? After all of this?" And he can't. He'd reacted just as poorly to what he thought he knew about this situation as he had every goddamn other thing she'd held back from him. Only this time, it's all out in the open and that's what they're going to have to hold onto. Jax smiles, dips his head to kiss her, and it's a hot rush of breath she releases, shakily, that lets him know she's forgiven him before he even says the words.

"No. I can't blame you for it, Babe… and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too- for not telling you about the scholarships, for being like…" Tara gestures to herself, sheepishly, "-_this…_ But I want you to know- the whole reason I had those letters out today, is because I'm mailing off the deferral forms; they'll reassess, including my grades the past two semesters, and what they have to offer me could be the same or better next year."

"And if they're not?" Tara smiles, shrugs a bit.

"Then that's something I'll- _we'll_\- have to deal with when the time comes, I guess. There's always the chance things will change."

"I guess-"

"But the plan- I'm still in, baby, as long as you are. One year, and then we go wherever we have to, to make sure both of us get what we need. Are you still with me?" The moment she lifts those big, shining green eyes to his, Jax knows it doesn't matter what he says next, what they plan for their future- not unless the one fundamental truth he's had to cling to these past four years is still true.

"Do you love me, Tara?" Her eyes never leave his, just seem to look straight through to his heart, willing him to hear what she's saying with it, too- so full of love and emotion that suddenly, he doesn't need to hear the words at all.

"I love you, Jackson." And he wouldn't dream of looking away when he tells her,

"I love you too… and I'm still in."

The meeting of their lips, this time, is soft- unhurried- and it's with deliberation, not desperation, that they undress each other. Jax unbuttons her shirt slowly, flicking open the front clasp of her bra so he can expose as much of her smooth, sweet skin as possible. She revels in his touch, feather-light, but steady, and then she's pushing his t-shirt over his head almost reverently, her fingers drifting down the sensitive skin of his sides until he can't help but close his eyes. And when she slides his jeans and boxers off his hips to take him in hand, her strokes are measured, leisurely, reminding him in the most fundamental way that he's hers.

Unable to bear even the mere inches of space between them, Jax picks her up- her legs wrapping instantly around his waist, rough jeans sliding against the smooth skin of his belly- and walks them over to their bed. Even then, he can hardly bring himself to lay her down, lost as he is in the feel of her- the warm, gentle drag of her softness against his chest, the heat of her lips, pliant and hot, under his.

Groaning, Jax rests one knee on the bed and places her on it, gently- watches her gaze as she blinks up at him, so open and trusting his breath catches. One leg at a time, he peels her jeans down until Tara's naked and willing, reaching up for him like he'd feared fifteen minutes ago she'd never do again. Banishing those thoughts into the far recesses of his mind, he slides up her body, relishing the slick contact as he mouths kisses everywhere he can reach with his lips; he reaches between them to guide himself and pushes his way home so he can savor the sharp gasp she always has for him at the moment of their connection, and feel the wet heat of her mouth working his jaw, his shoulder, hear her soft sighs as he begins moving within her.

And for now, the scattered papers on the table cease to matter; not when he's hers, and she's his- because they're better together, and nothing could ever be wrong when they're like this.

* * *

The moonlight filtering through the alcove window drapes a puddle of light across Tara's bare back, and Jax can't resist smoothing his fingers over it, ghosting a light figure eight over the place he hopes to ink his crow sooner rather than later. He's half-hard and considering waking her, coaxing her into round three- or is it four- of the long-overdue, toe-curling makeup sex it seemed like they'd been at all late afternoon and evening, when the ringing of Tara's ancient wall phone reminds him why he'd woken up in the first place.

_Shit, was that the second ring or the third?_

Rolling out of bed and padding, nude, across the apartment, Jax cringes through one more ring before glancing over his shoulder at the bed. Tara's still sleeping like the dead; apparently, they'd pretty thoroughly worn each other out- which is to be expected when you don't bother to stop to eat, drink, or rest for hours on end. Grinning to himself, he removes the handset from the wall and answers as quietly as he can manage without sounding like a complete fucking weirdo.

"H'lo?" Christ, he sounds wrecked; though, he supposes a shouting match and a few rounds of fairly vigorous sex will do that to a guy.

_"J- Jax?"_ He can't place the person on the other end right away- and whoever it is doesn't seem all that surprised he'd answered, just… upset, in general.

"Yeah?"

What the hell time is it, anyway? He checks the clock- 10:32 stares back at him from the digital display, and he's about to give whoever it is a piece of his mind for calling so goddamn late, and another one for going fucking silent once they've got him on the phone… but then the voice comes again.

_"It's Donna. I- well, Ope was supposed to pick me up from work when I got done with my shift at seven- said he had a surprise for me and all, only he never showed."_ Instantly, Jax is awake, alert, a spear of dread shooting through his chest. _"At first, I figured your club business had run late, so I went on home- I mean, he hasn't been back before dark in months. But then, I got a call…"_

She's crying- fuck, Donna's actually _crying,_ and instead of saying anything, instead of reassuring her, Jax can only let his mind race, try to seize on the most likely logical explanation… only he finds none. Christ, something's _wrong_\- something had happened to Ope that had required a phone call and resulted in this- and of all the scenarios that rush through Jax's head in the intervening moments before Donna speaks again, none of them are good. Absolutely, goddamn _zero._

Even so, when her voice comes again- this time sobbing outright- he's not ready, not at all prepared for what she has to say. Matter of fact, if it isn't the worst-case scenario, it's pretty fucking close.

_"H- he's in County, Jax. Opie got arrested."_


	20. Ch 20

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jax has been punched in the gut before. A few times, actually- the most memorable being at the hands of Opie himself, during a scuffle right after Mary had taken off.

Well, _memorable_ is a relative term, really, because Jax had never been able to recall what had led up to the fight- just that one of Ope's usually good natured jabs about his mother had dug a little too deep, Jax had begun a nasty comment about how at least Gemma was capable of actually being a mom, while Mary-

And the next thing he knew, he was doubled over, belly wrapped around Ope's fist and unable to breathe, or even think.

Going on eight years later, and he's right back there- near doubled over and breathless, having to will his chest to expand to pull in enough oxygen to banish the black spots from his vision. Again, it's Opie that's at the root of it all- this feeling of having the wind knocked out of him, permanently – but this time, he realizes somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, things won't be solved by a sheepish apology and a fumbling handshake between friends. Not when his best friend's in jail.

"_Jax?_"

"Jax?"

The voices reach his ears simultaneously. Donna's is tinny, seems like its coming from somewhere across continents and underneath oceans instead of across town. Tara's, however- still sleep-soaked and thick- comes to him from across the room, and he locks eyes with her as he dives headfirst back into the misery.

"I'm here, sorry. What the hell happened?"

"_I'm not sure. Ope called Piney from some jail, I guess, and then he called me. He told me what he said, and then said to call Tara and find you. They're, uh-" Donna's voice cracks, but she clears her throat and pushes on. "I think JT and Gemma were worried you were with him at first- he only had one minute to call, and Piney didn't think to ask… Shit, I need to call him back. Can you, uh- can you tell Tara… shit, I'm sorry..."_

Donna's crying again and Jax swallows, hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment that's all too brief; when he opens them, Tara's wrapping herself in the quilt, though it's a warm night, and picking her way through their scattered clothing towards him.

"Shh, don't be sorry, Don- and Tara's right here with me." At Donna's name, then her own, Tara's eyes widen in concern. _What's going on_, she doesn't say, but Jax just gives her a pained look and shakes his head. "I'll call Ma, make sure she knows I'm alright and then head over there. But you... " He swallows, suddenly remembering the promise he'd made Ope such a short time ago. "You shouldn't be alone, darlin'- not tonight."

_"I'll be fine, Jax, really. I should probably-"_

"Naw, I ain't takin' no for an answer- we'll pick you up on the way to the house. Give us… a half hour or so, a'ight?"

Donna's silent for a few ticks before replying, her voice a wavery near-whisper Jax can barely hear.

_"Yeah, okay."_

He tries not to notice the way Donna's voice breaks, tries not to think too much about how she doesn't say goodbye after, says nothing but the click of the receiver. What he can't ignore, though, is the dull, sick thudding of his heart, which seems to be spreading the dread outward through his body.

"What's going on, Jax?"

Tara's murmur, soft as it is, jolts him back into the moment, and he realizes he's still naked in the middle of the kitchen, still has the phone up to his ear like some idiot. Grimly, he turns to set the receiver back on the cradle only to feel Tara's arms snaking around his waist; he abandons the phone on the table instead, moments before they're wrapped up in the quilt. Her arms cross at his back as she presses against him, toes on up, and rests her head on his chest. Sighing, he tightens his arms around her as well, drops his cheek to rest on the top of her head.

It's almost instant, the way the feel of her against him seems to slow the blackness that had been creeping in- Christ, even the vise that had been tightening around his heart lets up a little, loosening further when she presses her lips to his chest.

"Jax…"

"That was Donna," he mumbles, helplessly, against her hair. "It's Ope."

Jax hears her sharp intake of breath, but not before he feels it against his own bare midsection; he loosens his arms, expecting her to draw back and pepper him with questions he doesn't have the answers to. Instead, she holds him all the tighter and he can feel the the muscles in her jaw working against his chest as she tries to speak.

"Is he… Jesus, Jackson, was there an accident?"

"An acci-"

Jax is suddenly flooded by the realization of what Tara's asking him, what she'd thought- and in the next moment, why she'd been both squeezing the life out of him and refusing to meet his eyes… she's scared as hell.

"No, baby- no. Ope's fine. He's not hurt, I don't think." Her shuddering sigh against him is both his reassurance she's understood and what prods him to keep talking, to get it over with before she assumes the worst. "He's in jail, Tara. Donna… well, she said they don't know much, at least not yet."

Tara doesn't move, just continues to stand there, locked in his embrace even as she whispers-

"_Oh my God…_"

And then she_ is_ moving, pulling back from him as little as possible, just far enough to meet his eyes with her own shining green ones- tearful and somehow luminous, even in the dim kitchen.

"Are… were you involved?"

"What?" Wincing at the incredulous note in his voice, Tara bites her lip before pressing them together, letting the rest rush out all at once.

"You were with him today, right before you came here, right? Did you-"

"Did I what, Tara?" Jax replies, a bitter note creeping into his voice, matching the edge of annoyance that creeps in at her question. "Did Ope and I go out and knock over a liquor store or some shit? Nope."

"That's not what I mean. I... " Tara blinks, the tears that had been gathering suddenly spilling over her lashes and onto her cheekbones, glinting in the moonlight that's the only light in the room, and Jax feels a swift pang of guilt. Christ, he's made her cry for the second time in the span of a few hours. "I wasn't accusing you of anything, I just- are they coming for you, too?" Her voice breaks and, softening, Jax threads his hand between them to brush the tears from her cheeks with his thumb, kisses her cheek in apology.

"No, Babe. I'm sorry." Tara merely bites her lip as Jax draws back, speaking earnestly, this time. "We were helpin' Luann with some equipment she had delivered, and when we got done, I came back here to be with you." _And I should've been there- had his back, whatever went down_, he doesn't say, even as he sees the relief flash across Tara's face moments before the guilt that comes on its heels- which is, he's guessing, the result of her momentary relief it's Opie and not him that's sitting in jail. And oh, does he know how the fuck that feels.

"So what the hell happened?"

"I don't know, Tara. But I'm headin' over to the house to see what they know, just as soon as I call Ma 'cause she had the same thoughts you did about me bein' locked up with Ope."

"'Kay," comes the response, much steadier than her last. Then, her eyes are searching his, concern replacing the guilt and mixing with the brokenness Jax himself had been experiencing practically since he'd answered the phone earlier. "What can I do… how can I help you?"

"Nothing, just... "

Whatever the fuck he'd thought about saying ends in a sigh, and Tara's cheek's back against his chest before he can think, fitting her body against his and reminding him they're both still nude under the warmth of the quilt. Christ, it's this he'd not even realized he'd missed over the past couple months they'd been tiptoeing around each other and pretending all was fine- the way that somehow, everything seems to fall away when they're wrapped up in each other. And all he fucking wants, more than anything in this world, actually, is to whisper how much he needs her, for her to cut his words off short with her lips and drag him back to bed… and not resurface for a week. A month, even-

_Or however the hell long Ope's locked up-_

_Jesus._

Jax knows they've got to get a move on- get dressed, pick Donna up… Christ, he's got to call Gemma- the only reason Tara's phone isn't ringing off the hook is because its still sitting on the table next to them, and it's probably only a matter of time before his mother's here and beating down the door because the phone's tied up. And then they've got to try to get what they can of the truth, see what Piney, JT or, hell, probably Rosen can do about getting him out-

And then Tara's lips brush his chest as she settles into him even further- once again calming the storm that had quickly been building within him- and Jax finds he can't do much in this particular moment besides hold her tight and just breathe.

* * *

"Jackson?"

Jax's eyes fly open, his consciousness immediately assaulted by an array of soft purples, dusty pinks- and an immense, multi colored fuzzy poster of a unicorn drinking from a stream, which is for some reason adorning the wall of his childhood bedroom. In the moment, his mind can't place the voice- feminine, sweet and lilting, whereas everyone but Tara that's tried to wake him in the past year or so has been a gruff biker bent on shoving him into some shitty slave detail or other.

He raises his head, briefly, and smiles- Tara's currently sprawled across his chest, her soft breaths still warming his chest much as they had last night when-

And just like that, the previous night comes rushing back in waves- the fight they'd had, where the stifling panic Tara was leaving him had mixed with the choking anger at the thought that she'd lied to him… followed by the absolution of finally,_ finally_ having everything out in the open only to have shit cave in on him hours later with the news that his best friend was in jail.

All traces of a smile now absent, Jax sighs and reaches for his cigarettes- only to find his nightstand covered with some white, lacy shit. The voice comes again a moment later.

"Jackson? Da says y' need to get up 'cause Mr. Rosen's goin' t' be here soon…"

In that instant, Jax places both the voice- Trinity's- and the reason his room's covered in girly shit. It's no longer his room, but his little half-sister's, and she, Gemma and Tara had banded together a year or so ago right after Trinity first started staying weekends here to make sure the room really felt like hers. Apparently, that had meant making it look like the aforementioned fuzzy unicorn had upchucked all over his room; Jax wrinkles his nose as he takes a good look at all the pink, purple and frilly, but chuckles all the same.

"You can come on in, darlin'" he calls, shifting himself even further upright and gathering a sleepily murmuring Tara into his arms.

"Wh' time'sit baby" she mumbles thickly, peering up at him through her eyelashes, and fuck if that doesn't just prove what she can do to him with a simple look, anywhere, any time. Christ, it's only Trinity poking her head around the door and the fact that they're in her bed and mostly dressed for once- owing to Gemma's dire threats of torture culminating in _chopping his goddamn dick off if you can't be adults and just go in there and go to sleep!- _that have him tamping down his seemingly endless desire. Gemma'd been right, of course- it's Trinity's room, now- but in the moment, Jax is thankful for the thick quilt covering them both.

"How was the sleepover, Trin?" he asks, angling his head in question and willing away the thoughts he'd been having just moments ago so he can focus on the situation at hand. Trinity shrugs, crossing the room and flopping into what appears to be a large, purple, plastic, inflatable chair of some kind.

"T'was alright. Gem knows her ma, but me n' Jenny aren't really friends at school or nothin'. I asked her about lettin' me have a sleepover with Ashley Hale, but... " Again, Trinity shrugs. From the vicinity of Jax's chest comes a soft snort.

"Let me guess, Hale's kid sister is a no-go, and Jenny's mom helps Gemma out over at the clubhouse," Tara murmurs, clearly more awake now. Trinity nods and all of a sudden, Jax catches on- remembering all too well how Gemma had been reluctant to let him hang out with any non-club kids.

Of course, it's not like he'd listened, since he'd pretty much bulldozed his mother into making Tara the exception to the rule as well as talking her into a few memorable birthday parties on the T-M lot… but the other boys had been mostly not allowed to spend much time at either his own house or the clubhouse, David Hale had quickly been relegated to Gemma's paper boy, so the older they'd gotten, the more often it had been just Tara, Ope, and himself...

Jax's stomach churns, suddenly, at the thought of where Ope is right now- which they'd learned last night is somewhere behind bars over at County. Memories of visiting with JT at County through plexiglass, of a bored-looking Stockton State guard telling Gemma there had been an incident and would John Teller's family please report to the chaplain's office-

Jax quickly pushes the thought away. Christ, he'd give just about anything to not feel so fucking _helpless _right now. And it's not like last night had gotten them anywhere- they'd sat at Gemma's dining room table for what seemed like forever while Piney and JT had asked seemingly endless questions about the job they'd done for Luann, the last thing Ope had said before Jax had left, if either he or Luann had mentioned anything...

No progress had been made there, either- Gemma's calls to Luann had gone unanswered, and after working his way through a half-pack of reds and the majority of a bottle of tequila, Piney had finally lost his patience.

_"And where the hell were you when my boy was gettin' locked up?" Piney growled, narrowing his eyes and pointing a smoldering cigarette in Jax's direction._

_"Brother-" Piney waved JT off, electing instead to lean halfway across Gemma's dining room table and focus on Jax, though his words were seemingly directed at JT._

_"Yeah... _brother_. That's what the two of 'em have been since they were babies, and _now_ look at 'em. We send 'em over to help another brother's old lady and only one of 'em came back-"_

_"I told you, Piney- we were done for the day. Ope just wanted to ask Luann how things went with Otto-" Piney just glared, shook his head as Jax's next words died on his lips. It was a moment before he continued, his next words quieter but no less scathing._

"_Yeah, you said that shit already. But somethin' happened after you left- that, we know for damn sure. Ope's been eaten up about Otto bein' locked up since it fuckin' happened, and I ain't got no doubt he let Luann talk him into helpin' her with some under the table bullshit for that goddamn porno business of hers."_

_"We don't know that, Piney. Ope coulda gotten hemmed up for speeding, or just about anyth- "_

_"See, now that don't make no sense," Piney argued, cutting JT off for the second time in as many minutes, the ash on his cigarette dangerously long, "he ain't got warrants, or previous run-ins with Charming PD besides some of his dumber high school moments with your boy here. He was supposed to pick up Donna, here, on the other side of town at- what time was it, darlin'?" Piney raised his voice and directed his attention, for the first time, over the breakfast bar and towards the kitchen table, where Gemma and Tara sat with heads bowed together, a tearful Donna between them._

_"Seven… he said he'd pick me up from work."_

_Christ, as much as Piney's bluster and accusations had cut deep into Jax's already rapidly-building guilt, the look on Donna's face just twisted the knife. He'd promised to have his brother's back, always, and if he ever failed, well… The conversation he and Ope had the night they'd patched in came calling, but that train of thought was quickly derailed when Piney nodded, shortly, before abruptly shoving his chair back and towering over them all._

_"So you tell me why the hell Ope was way the hell out in San Jua's jurisdiction when he knew he had to pick up his girl… and why the hell _you_ weren't out there watchin' his back."_

_Piney didn't bother to look at any of them, just snatched up the tequila bottle and stalked around the breakfast bar, mumbling an apology as he reached the kitchen- "sorry, Gem." The back door slammed, leaving Tara and Donna wide-eyed and Gemma eyeing JT warily for a moment before standing up, herself._

_"C'mon sweetheart, let's get you set up on the couch, alright? There's nothin' more we can do tonight, JT and Piney will talk to Rosen in the morning." Gemma slipped an arm around Donna's shoulders and began leading her through the dining room towards the rest of the house before pausing to look Jax up and down, her expression unreadable. "You and Tara go ahead and take Trinity's room- she's at a sleepover." Gemma glanced at JT again for a moment, seeming to contemplate saying something else before deciding, evidently, to keep her thoughts to herself for once and ushering Donna down the back hallway._

_The room was silent a moment-Jax staring at his hands and trying to ignore the ever-growing hollow feeling in his gut- before Tara appeared at the foot of the massive dining room table. Suddenly, as if he'd made some decision, his father stood, clasping Jax's shoulder firmly as he did so._

"_I'll talk to him, Son. He's just feelin' helpless, pissed off-"_

_"He was right," Jax interrupted, dully, almost as if JT had never spoken._

_"Jax…" Tara's voice- somehow pleading and sympathetic at the same time- barely touched him for once, seemed to travel straight through him as he looked up at his father, sure in that moment of nothing but the way he'd failed to do the one thing he'd promised when he'd decided to wait for Ope to prospect for SAMCRO- always have his back.  
_

"Jax!"

His father's voice jolts him out of the memory, but not out of the wash of guilt that overtakes him as Piney's words continue to echo in his head. _Why the hell weren't you out there watchin' his back?_

Jax closes his eyes against the sensation for a moment- apparently, just long enough for JT to poke his head into the room.

"Christ, Son-" JT stops, abruptly, clearing his throat and changing tacks, angling his head at his daughter, who's still sprawled across the purple, plastic chair. "Trini, darlin', go on and tell Gem we'll be right out if she wants to go ahead and get the coffee goin' for Rosen. Tara-"

"I'll go too, help Gemma." His girl's already sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed in the clothes she'd hastily thrown on last night and pulling on her ever-present Chucks. Jax has time to smile, faintly, as JT shoots Tara a grateful look, kissing both her and Trinity on the top of the head as they file past him. Then, his father's gaze is fixed on him again, settling somewhere between serious and wary as he leans against the doorframe.

"Rosen's on his way over- could be here already, matter of fact-"

"Yup," Jax grunts, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and swiping a hand down his face before focusing, dully, on the jeans pooled on the floor where he'd left them.

"He's got info, Ope's charges and all that- but he ain't allowed to say anything t' the rest of us unless Piney or Ope himself says so."

_Yeah, and?_ Jax doesn't say, letting the look he shoots his father as he steps into his shoes and yanks up his jeans speak for itself. JT sighs, apparently getting the message.

"Point is, Piney's here. He's still an unreasonable old bastard, still good and pissed off about all of this… but he was _wrong,_ last night, and he knows it. Even if he won't ever admit it." JT chuckles humorlessly as Jax tucks his cigarettes, lighter, and journal into his back pocket for now; his kutte's still out there hanging on the hook next to his father's, and even this early in the morning, he feels almost naked without it.

Evidently tired of waiting for Jax to respond, JT angles his head upward, eyeing Jax thoughtfully even as he continues.

"He ain't never gonna apologize- hell, I don't know if he's _ever_ known how to- but I-"

"Dad, none of that shit matters. Not now."

They're standing there, facing off in his childhood bedroom and at a bit of an impasse since JT seems to have more shit to say and Jax isn't in the goddamn mood to hear any more of his father's platitudes, when the doorbell chimes.

"Rosen." Jax says, simply, and his father nods.

"Let's go hear what he has to say before you go gettin' too caught up about all this, alright Son?"

"Yeah." It's just the one word, but it's all Jax can manage before his father nods, grimly, and turns to lead them out into the dining room.

Rosen's already seated at Gemma's immense, new dining room table, his immaculate suit and stylish haircut presenting an almost humorous contrast to Piney, who's occupying the chair across from him and dressed in his faded, denim kutte and a mostly-clean, mostly-still-red t-shirt Jax remembers the garage ordering sometime in his elementary school years, back when the logos embroidered across the front still read Teller-Morrow. If Piney finds this ironic at all, he doesn't show it.

Of course, Jax reasons, Piney doesn't just occupy a chair- the man's nearly six and a half feet tall and hulking, though age (and probably the cigarettes and booze) had been taking its toll on him the last few years- and Jax can't help but notice how much bigger, how much more commanding he looks when he's truly taking on the responsibilities of his role as SAMCRO's VP. Or, as now, when his family's at risk. At any rate, Piney's dwarfing the chair underneath him and leaning over a smoldering ashtray, his eyes fixed on Rosen, who's looking several steps from comfortable under his glare.

Rosen's been the club's lawyer ever since Jax can remember, has seen them through God knows what all, plus Otto's ongoing murder rap. Apparently, however, not even Otto's infamous, less-than-rational temper holds a candle to Piney Winston at the end of his rope. Rosen's handsomely lined, normally burnished skin is several shades paler than Jax remembers, and his manicured hands are currently twisted around a pen Jax figures had come from the leather legal folio spread out before him.

Apparently recognizing this- and not wanting to lose the services of the club's longtime lawyer before he can even really get started- JT makes his way to the head of the table, clapping Piney on the back on his way past. This serves to at least spur the man into taking a drag from his cigarette, and Rosen releases a subtle breath as JT settles into his chair.

"Mornin'" JT says affably, ostensibly addressing both Piney and Rosen, though only Rosen acknowledges the greeting before JT beckons towards Jax, who's still hovering at the threshold to the back hallway. "C'mon and have a seat, Son." Somewhat reluctantly, Jax moves forward, hesitating a moment before pulling out the chair next to Piney and settling into it- may as well bite the proverbial bullet.

He's faintly aware of Gemma bustling about, placing a coffee cup in front of he and JT before filling both as well as refilling Piney and Rosen's. Briefly, Jax wonders where Tara is- and then Rosen's nervously clearing his throat and shuffling rapidly through the papers in front of him.

"I assume you gentlemen don't have time to waste- even on a weekend- so I'll get right to it." JT nods, gratefully, though Piney just stubs out his cigarette and leans further across the table, brows raised expectantly. Rosen eyes him warily before continuing.

"Like I told you over the phone, I was able to pull some strings and get in to see Harry-"

"Opie," Jax can't help interjecting, though JT shoots him a look that says, basically, you're not helping. Jax shrugs in response even as Rosen corrects himself immediately.

"Right, sorry; I was able to speak with, ah, _Opie_ for a few minutes only, but the DA had apparently pulled similar strings and our meeting got cut short. I was able to speak with _him _about what we're up against here, which was arguably more enlightening than my conversation with Opie, who was reluctant to tell me anything-"

"You're damn right he was," Piney grunts, breaking his silence for the first time since Jax had entered the room, his eyes shining with a faint gleam of pride. Rosen just shakes his head slightly.

"If he goes on this way, he won't be helping himself by refusing to discuss his case and it would help me out a whole hell of a lot if one of you would tell him that. Now… like I said, I talked with the DA, got a summary of what went down last night as well as what they'll likely charge him with." He pauses, drawing a sheet of paper out of the stack in front of him, and slides it across the table to Piney. "It isn't good, I can tell you that."

Everything in the room- Rosen, the girls' soft murmurs from somewhere in the next room, hell, even the perking of Gemma's coffee pot in the kitchen- seems to fall silent as Piney gingerly picks up the document and lets his eyes roam over it. Jax is pretty sure his stomach has taken up permanent residence somewhere near his throat as he watches Piney read the details he himself has been agonizing over for going on twelve hours now. As always, the man's irascible expression is unchanging- he's looked about the same level of pissed-off he has since last night- and suddenly Jax is convinced that's a bad fucking sign.

After a long moment, Piney clears his throat, gestures at Rosen with the paper in his hand before demanding-

"What the hell does all this mean- and in fuckin' English, Rosie." Rosen sighs, presses a fist to his mouth for a moment while he evidently decides the safest tack to take. He must have noticed the expectant expressions on both Jax and JT's faces, because he glances around the table before shaking his head.

"Har- uh, Opie- was found to be illegally involved with a case very close to SAMCRO." Rosen winces slightly before fixing his gaze on Piney. "Unless you all have hired other legal counsel, there's only one case on SAMCRO's radar…"

"Otto," Jax breathes, almost without realizing it. Piney shoots him a vicious look but Rosen only nods, wearily. _Christ, Ope, what the fuck did you do?_

"As you know, Mr. Delaney's case has come down to two eyewitnesses that are willing to testify that he acted without provocation and murdered the three men in cold blood- directly contradicting Mr. Delaney's version of events." No, Jax _hadn't_ known that… but then, the club also hadn't discussed new developments in Otto's case since he and Ope had patched in. Had Opie known? Rosen's next comment seems to answer Jax's unspoken question. "Opie was found at the safe house the CDOJ was using to protect that witness."

"That don't mean shit and you know it," Piney barks, but JT speaks up for the first time, his voice measured, as if his VP isn't about to launch himself over the table.

"What are the charges, Rosie?"

"I was getting to that. Opie was found on the property and in possession of fifty thousand dollars-"

At this development, Piney emits a strange, strangled sound Jax has never heard before, even as Rosen continues.

"-meaning he can be charged with witness tampering in addition to felony bribery. We won't know for certain until the arraignment, which won't be until some time on Monday, but the DA was practically clapping his hands in excitement."

"Where the hell'd he get fifty G's from?" Piney croaks, still a little breathless, which Jax completely fucking understands. _What. The. Fuck._ Where the hell had Opie gotten that kind of money, and _why_ the hell hadn't he said anything about any of this shit?

"I'm assuming the suspicion is, someone sent him over to try to bribe those witnesses and that he got the money from whoever put him up to it." JT responds, rubbing his temples as if he's got a headache coming on. Rosen nods, grimly, as JT continues, fingers resting against his skull. "I'm also assuming they're gonna try and finger Otto as the benefactor." Rosen chuckles, humorlessly.

"If I know the DA like I think I do, it goes one of two ways. Either they use this shit to hammer the final nail into Mr. Delaney's coffin, or…" Rosen shrugs, glancing nervously up at JT, his face drawn. What Rosen's not saying dawns on Jax, Piney, and JT all at once.

_The club._

Piney closes his eyes and Jax is in the midst of wondering which of Gemma's ugly-ass vases is going to meet his fists first, when JT's voice cuts through the desolate rage that had been threatening to swamp him.

"SAMCRO's got nothing to do with any half-cocked bribery scheme. Otto and Lenny the Pimp are our only sources on the inside, and Otto's been refusing to speak with anyone but Opie since the second week he got locked up. We didn't even have a line on the fact that the witnesses were in Witpro, but we sure as hell wouldn't have-"

"Oh, I know. Though, obviously, I can't say that in court." Rosen's holding his hands up in defense, now. "My point is, the DA's going to be looking into you guys, seeing if you have even one shred of a connection to this whole mess, and he's gonna do his damndest to get what he can out of Opie himself. Anything Opie says to tie that money to either Otto or the club-"

Piney's meaty fist slams onto the table, sending them all jumping.

"My boy ain't no rat." Rosen's looking wired and antsy as hell, but simply straightens his tie with shaking hands and shrugs, sympathetically, daring to give Piney a feeble smile.

"I know he isn't, Piney. But Opie's looking at three years for the bribery and if no other source is revealed-"

"But if he still had the money on him…" Jax begins, thinking out loud. Rosen directs his attentions towards Jax for the first time, the faint light of sympathy still present even as he shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter. Attempted bribery, intent to bribe, _actual _bribery… all are viewed the same in the state of California. And that isn't even his biggest worry- if they decide to hang a witness tampering charge in there too, though it isn't likely, he could be looking at up to twenty."

Jax feels the air rush out of him even as the room seems to close in; Opie- his best friend in the goddamn world, the person he'd been riding alongside since they were old enough to mount a bike, the one guy who'd had his back since they were in diapers- could be behind bars until they're middle aged.

Just yesterday, Ope had been planning on a life- a life of brotherhood with Jax and SAMCRO, one with Donna... Jax's throat closes at the prospect of all his best friend's hopes and dreams- a house, a life, a family, with the girl he loves- circling the drain somewhere in Stockton. Unbidden, the conversation they'd had the day they'd patched SAMCRO- the day Jax had sworn on his life to watch out for Donna the way he knows Ope would watch out for Tara- surfaces once again.

_"I just figure, if somethin' ever happens and I'm inside, I'd want someone to watch out for Donna…"_

Ope's voice seems to echo in his ear and he barely hears the rest of the brief conversation with Rosen- though, apparently, it hadn't been good because JT's staring at his smoldering cigarette and Piney's clenching and re-clenching his fist long after Rosen says his goodbyes.

It's a few moments before anyone says anything, and Jax nearly jumps out of his skin when Piney's voice rumbles low across the table.

"Boy, I told ya I expected ya to watch his back, and I meant it." Jax can only nod, silently, staring at his hands, resting on the table like a good patched SAMCRO does when he's at the table. Then Piney continues, a little more softly- "He tell you about any of this shit?" Jax's glance darts up, briefly, only to see the glare Piney continues to direct at his own fists instead of at Jax. He can't seem to help protesting, despite himself.

"Naw, Piney. I… _Christ_, I'd have told him not to go and-" JT's palm slams down on the table.

"Don't give me that shit, Son, you'd have been right there with him and you know it." _Right there with him in jail, too,_ JT's fierce gaze adds, silently, but he may as well have said it because Jax can practically feel the sharp bite of the words cutting through the smoke.

"Yeah…" is about all he can manage before Piney's continuing, thickly.

"That shit I said last night-" And all of a sudden, Jax can't fucking do it. Can't let Piney, a man whose only son- Christ, the only thing he's got left in the world besides SAMCRO- actually fucking _apologize_ to him, a guy that's failed his best friend whether he wants to admit it or not.

"You were right, Piney. When shit comes right down to it, you were right."

It's all he can say, really, all he has to offer either Piney or Ope at the moment- though Jax can't stop the bitter voice in his head reminding him it isn't near enough.

He doesn't have the chance to dwell on it, doesn't have the time to hear whatever Piney's fixing his mouth to say or analyze the reproachful shaking of his father's head- because a sharp sob knifes through the haze in the dining room and each of the three men at the table react immediately, half-standing, twisting around in chairs towards the source of the sound.

Jax is the only one to follow it, he thinks, the only one to approach the expansive entry to the living room, only to sag against the door frame at the sight of his best friend's girl- utterly broken and bracketed between his mother and his love on Gemma's living room sofa.

"Shhhh," Gemma's soothing, clutching Donna to her side stroking her hair as she cries- wordlessly, now- into the shoulder of her shirt, silent sobs shaking her small frame "It's alright, sweetheart… it's okay."

Except it isn't. _Nothing's_ okay, not with Ope locked up for what could be years, leaving his girl with nobody but Piney to call family here in Charming. Not with Donna falling apart in his mother's arms and Tara frozen in shock, tears streaming down her cheeks until they drip from her trembling chin and onto the front of his shirt she's still wearing.

_Nothing's fucking okay_, Jax wants to scream, wants to let the words spill from his mouth like he would have when he was sixteen.

But he's a man, now, and not a fucking child any longer. Gemma eyes him a moment over the top of Donna's head before setting her jaw and turning to raise an eyebrow at Tara, who quickly swipes her own tears from beneath her eyes. Then his mother's whispering something Jax can't make out in Donna's ear and shifting her into Tara's waiting arms.

Gemma's at his side almost before he knows it, pulling him into a hug he barely has the heart to return as he hears Piney's voice behind him, followed by the slam of the back door.

"Opie'll be fine, Jackson," Gemma murmurs into his ear as Donna's shoulders continue to shake, silently, against Tara's midsection. "He knows the protocol- he grew up in this club just like you did-"

"Not right now, Ma, okay?" Jax only barely manages to say as he withdraws from his mother's embrace, unable to force himself to listen to her tell him once again how it will all be okay. And for once in her life, Gemma just nods, wordlessly, reaches up to pat him on the cheek before smiling faintly and retreating slightly to turn her gaze to the two girls on her couch. They watch, silently, for a moment as Tara seems to set herself against more tears- hell, Jax can practically see the moment when the rod of steel travels up her spine, straightening her shoulders and setting her chin before she begins stroking Donna's hair and cradling her friend as she struggles to breathe.

"She'll make a good old lady, Jackson; she's strong… If you were to-" Gemma seems to catch herself before she can finish her sentence, and Jax isn't sure if he wants to know what she was about to say. _If he what?_

"I know," is all he can say. Because even if he's got no clue what Gemma had been about to say, he knows what Tara means to Donna, in this moment. He knows exactly how strong she is, knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of Tara's touch, her comfort. He doesn't know how, but she heals him- Christ, it sometimes seems like she makes everything she touches better, even if she's got to put herself last to do it.

It's one reason – one reason among a shitload of reasons, actually – he's terrified of losing her.

And suddenly, the urge to touch her- breathe in her scent and allow her to calm the storm that's been building since the last time he had her in his arms- is too strong. Unable to help himself as thoughts of Ope sitting in a jail cell, only able to touch Donna through plate glass, drift back into his consciousness, Jax crosses the distance between them in a step or two. He drops to his knees in front of the couch and- unable to look Donna in the eye even as she emerges from Tara's embrace- zeroes in on the tear threatening at the edges of Tara's own dark lashes. Brushing it away with a thumb, he urges her towards him with a gentle palm.

As both Tara and Donna slide to the floor with him and Jax threads his fingers into Tara's hair, a brief flicker of a memory surfaces – of nine year old Jackson and Harry bracketing Tara in their arms under that willow tree in the park the day her mother learned she had cancer. He has but a moment to wonder if that was the last time she needed him as much as he needs her before Tara's arms are wrapped around him and Donna's tears are wetting a hot circle on the chest of his SAMCRO t-shirt.

Jax will probably never know how he doesn't break down right there on his mother's living room floor… but he doesn't. Instead, it's as if that same steel Tara had found earlier is creeping into his veins, straightening his spine, firming his resolve. Ope's in jail, and for right now there isn't shit he can do about it but what he promised his best friend-

_If somethin' ever happens to one of us, you know as well as I do that we'll both do our best to watch out for our old ladies._

And as Jax cradles the future of his family- and Ope's family, too- in his arms, he notices his parents lingering in the doorway. The approving purse of Gemma's lips contrasts with the troubled lines surrounding JT's own mouth, and Jax can't help but send them both a determined raise of his chin more in tune with his own thoughts than with whatever the fuck is on their respective minds. _It's time to man the fuck up, Teller._ He may have missed his shot to be there for his brother, the circumstances be damned, but he sure as hell isn't going to fail his brother's girl, too.


	21. Ch 21

****I own nothing you recognize****

"_I need you."_

The statement- simple as it is- rocks Tara for a moment, sets a whirl of memories alight in her mind; of Jackson- still dewy-faced and dazed as she is by the sheer intensity of what they feel, body and soul, when they're as close as any two can be- gently seizing her wrist to move her still-tentative hand down his body and whispering in the darkness, _I need you..._

"Again?" She'd felt the momentary urge to giggle, to tease, to marvel aloud at something she'd heard once about teenage boys being nothing more than walking hormones- and then she'd caught the look in his eyes and felt the mirth ebb away, replaced by a flood of realization about what it meant to not only want someone, but need them like your next breath. It had been then that she'd truly begun to understand that, somehow, their connection ran deeper than a childhood connection, deeper, even, than lust, passion, or any other of the words she could describe. Need was the simplest of the lot, to be sure, but what she saw in Jackson's eyes- what she knew to be reflected in her own just before he leaned ever closer and they fluttered closed- went without description.

Another memory of Jackson surfaces; he was about twelve hours removed from watching his father murder Clay for betraying his best friend and his club and learning life-altering truths about both of his parents, in her bed and staunchly holding back all the tears he'd driven himself into a state of shock rather than cry, she'd held him until he'd relaxed bit by bit, piece by piece, in her arms. It had started with his toes- curled against hers as they were with the sheer effort of pouring all his emotion into kissing her fiercely rather than releasing it elsewhere, and then suddenly falling slack even as his tongue met savagely with her own. Slowly, their tangled legs became lissome even as his body- held taut against hers- weighed more heavily than it had before.

The kiss had ended on its own accord moments before his cheek finally slackened against her temple and she finally, _finally,_ felt his hot tears drop against her skin. The only thing he hadn't relaxed was his arms, holding her ever closer to him in the dark until he'd finally managed to whisper his fears of losing his family. She hadn't known what to say- at least not aloud- but he'd seemed content to listen to the silence, relieved to cry without judgment or comment from her. And when she thought he'd finally drifted off to sleep only to hear him murmur- likely under the assumption that she herself was asleep- _I need you… _the only response she'd been able to give was the same one she'd give each of the many times since that he'd confessed himself to her- _I'm not going anywhere._

"_Tara!"_

The voice on the phone- decidedly_ not _Jackson's- serves to yank Tara from the depths of her reminiscence and square into the realization that the next emotion to hit her smack in the face is the utter disappointment that it isn't Jax that needs her, at all. The force of it is surprising, actually- especially considering the fact that they haven't spoken in days, that in his current state, he's distant at best, unreachable at worst- but doesn't preclude her from finally answering the insistent caller.

"I'm here."

Her voice, crackling into the handset and through the line before returning to her ear, sounds like it's gone unused for some time- despite the fact that she hasn't exactly been alone these past few days she's been holed up here. They hadn't really been doing a lot of talking, she supposes; actually, _wallowing_ seems like a more apt term to describe the way they'd been spending their time since Opie's arrest.

"_Jesus Christ, I was starting to wonder if I'd gone deaf,"_ Gemma snaps, her irritation making itself known as it usually does, with a sharp tint to her voice that's conspicuously sharper when directly addressing those that have inconvenienced her. It's been a while since Tara herself has been on the receiving end of her ire, but it's no more than she's come to expect. _"And I was beginning to wonder if the two of you had-"_

"What is it, Gemma?" It seems like altogether too much effort to remove the tendrils of exasperation that had begun to curl themselves into her voice… so she doesn't, and the resulting effect on Gemma's temper is about like she'd expected. Only, at the moment, Tara just doesn't give a shit.

"_I said that at the beginning- I need you."_ Another pang at the phrase, which abates quickly as Gemma hurries on to clarify. _"Meaning, I need you both down at the clubhouse tonight."_

"Of course you do- it's not like you have half an army of bimbos at your command or anything," Tara can't help but respond, drily, before briefly noting that the form under the blankets is stirring finally- likely as a result of her voice, resounding at what seems like an unreasonable level in the small apartment after so much silence. "Oh wait- you _do_, and I'm sure they'd be more than willing to play bartender for the biker ball-"

"_Cut the shit, Tara!" _Gemma's voice, sharper than ever, knifes its way through the remainder of the sarcastic remark she'd interrupted. _"We're all going through it, here, and this ain't about you." _Tara's struggle to keep her temper under control delays her next response long enough for Gemma to amend her statement. _"Well, Christ- this is about you, but not in the way you think. If I needed a bartender I'd call Precious and tell her to get her wide ass behind the bar- and that's exactly what the hell I did; if I needed to show an entire clubhouse that we're still stronger together, still a family, well- I'd get my goddamn family under one roof, where they ain't been since Ope went away. I'd remind 'em that when the rubber meets the road, this club is the one thing that holds us together and the one thing that can get us through the rough shit. And that's why I need you down here- both of you."  
_  
The abrupt click of the handset Tara expects next never comes; instead, Gemma's waiting, expectantly- ostensibly for her response, some form of acquiescence. Tara closes her eyes against the rapidly forming headache that's been building ever since the prospect of a SAMCRO party where she'd have to take on the role of _The_ Old Lady– but this time, without Opie, Donna, and Jax by her side- and answers, as obediently as she can.

"I'll be there. Wh-"

_"You'll _both_ be there. I'm trusting you with this, Tara- just do your job."_ Just do your job seems to echo in her head, even after the rest of Gemma's words fade. _Christ._

"That's just it, Gemma- I told you I'd be there, and I will. But I… I have a _job_. One that actually pays me- one I can't afford to lose. Ange-" Tara stops short, correcting herself almost too late, "uh, Doctor Carlson… she's been really understanding these past couple days, you know? I just- I told her I'd need a few days to take care of… everything." Again, Tara's eyes flit almost guiltily to the form emerging slowly from the blankets, not wanting to mention any names aloud, make things worse than they already are. As if by miracle, Gemma remains silent, waiting.

"Anyway, there were no surgeries scheduled so far this week, but I've got to go take care of-"  
_  
'Why didn't you just say so, sweetheart?" _Gemma's voice is suddenly, startlingly, soothing- almost patronizing- and Tara's struck by the presence of what seems to be relief tinting the edge of what she says next. _"You should've told me you were goin' through it with work- I thought it was the shit with Ope that kept you away." _The reason for the sudden turnabout is evident, and Tara can no more stop herself from rolling her eyes than breathing; Gemma's obviously been worried they'd stayed away from the club – from_ her_ – in an effort to keep some distance after Opie's arrest. Gemma's only remedy for that, Tara knows, is a nice, heavy guilt trip over the sense of duty one's affiliation with SAMCRO is supposed to inspire.

"That only works for some of us-" she can't help but mumble, stopping short when she realizes she's said it aloud. Gemma, however, is already responding, not bothering to listen now that she thinks she's gotten to the root of their absence from the clubhouse these past couple days.  
_  
"Just come on over as soon as you can get away, then. If the doc continues to be a problem, I'll talk to Kozy, see if he can't have a word with her about just how important it is that-"_

"Gemma! It's fine. She understands, we're just busy, okay?" Tara responds, hurriedly, in an attempt to end any plans Gemma may have of interfering at the vet clinic – and especially with Angela and Kozik's relationship – before they begin.

_"Right…" _Gemma sounds less than convinced, but returns to her normal, brusque self in the next breath._ "Get here as soon as you can." _The click Tara had been expecting almost since the phone call began echoes in her ear a millisecond later as she replaces the phone on its cradle.

Her glance shifts warily to the armchair that's been Donna's refuge over the past few days, unchanged since about nine this morning and seemingly unaffected by the rapidly advancing day.

_This isn't healthy for either of us_ flits through her mind- somewhere, in a place that's a bit clearer, more rational, and by far less dark than the inner recesses of her mind she'd been occupying since she'd practically dragged them both up the stairs, over the threshold, and to her little sleeping alcove. When her questions had been met with nothing more than silent, angry tears, well… It was like the steel she'd infused into her spine, the resolve with which she'd set her jaw- all of it disappeared. They'd cried together, then, and never returned to talk of Opie or what it meant for Donna- for all of them… but he'd been like a ghost in the room since that moment.

_Jesus, Ope, what were you thinking…_

Shaking her head blearily, pushing down the tears that threaten once again, Tara shuffles across the apartment to the small kitchen table, her socked feet silencing her footfalls and maintaining the status quo they'd been living with since Jax had driven them back here that morning. Absently, her fingers graze against the cereal box lying on its side on the table- its contents spilling onto the cheap formica beneath; Christ, at least Donna's been eating- though God knows when.

Silence stretches through the small apartment, seeming to settle heavily in even the farthest reaches of the tiny alcove like a thick blanket. The draw of it – the pull she feels tugging somewhere in her chest to crawl back under the covers with Donna and shut out the world until the thoughts that had begun to awaken the moment Gemma had said _I need you _recede – is, frankly, a little fucking scary.

When it gets right down to it, Tara's never really been one to hide away from anything. Even in her worst moments, she'd felt this fierce urge to_ do_ something, to slap some sense into the rest of her world until it all started making sense again- or at least work everything out in her mind until she knew how to make sense of everything, how to move forward.

As a kid, after being told her mom wouldn't likely survive past Christmas, that energy had been too raw, too far beyond her control for her to really channel towards anything productive. And so, she'd run until her legs couldn't carry her anymore, until the urge to d_o_ had passed… and Jax and Opie had been there to carry her through all that came next.

Through the horror that was JT's assassination attempt, her father's near-involvement and disappearance, and the almost unbelievable fallout that had taken place with the reveal of Clay's being the mastermind behind it all, she'd never been passive. In fact, she, Opie and Jax had found her father, gotten his quasi-testimony against Clay, and practically stared down a roomful of angry, patched SAMCRO members.

Getting caught up in her own head has always been a side effect of this itch to fix things, but she's never felt this immense urge to surrender to the darkness - to fall into bed until the sheer _nothing _of it all swallows all thought, drowns out all the questions endlessly churning in her mind. Christ, not even the massive rift that had opened up between she and Jax months ago had left her feeling this empty and helpless, and her mind had been fucking _relentless_ then, turning over what could have been, what should have been.

Absently, Tara passes a hand over her her belly, a nervous tic she'd noticed- and hated- as it had been developing during those awful weeks of awkward distance between them after the pregnancy confusion, and sighs, chewing her lip as she wonders just how the hell to move forward.

_No time like the present..._

Reluctantly, she picks her way across the darkened apartment and settles gingerly on the edge of the bed, on the brink of hating herself for what she's about to do.

"Sweetie…" is all she can think to say, hating how tentative her voice sounds as it wavers into the silence.

"Fuck… off…" comes the response, though there's no bite behind it, and Tara finds the corners of her lips drawing up a bit, despite herself. When it's clear there's nothing more forthcoming, however, the smile thins against her will, though she struggles to keep it firmly in place as she bends nearer the jumbled heap of blankets in the side chair near the bed.

C'mon, Donna," she swallows- unsure, exactly, how to assemble the mess her conversation with Gemma had been into a neat little package aimed at rousing the figure still buried in the quilts. "We can't keep doing this. I know it's rough, not knowing what's gonna happen with Ope, but we-"

"-need to make an appearance at Club Reaper. I got it."

If Donna's voice, as gravelly and rumbling as her own had been minutes ago, hadn't stopped Tara dead, the first glimpse of her face in over a day's time may have. Her breath catches as the quilt slips down around her friend's shoulders, revealing a thatch of ruddy brown hair and those eyes… Christ. Tara's chest begins to ache as she takes in the once-lively, friendly gray orbs that are now deadened, closed off somehow and red from the tears that are even now welling up. Below them, a set of hollowed, darkened circles has begun to develop, and even as Donna chances a smile, it doesn't touch the rest of her features. It's more of a gruesome twisting of her lips than the real thing, and Tara can almost see the pain radiating from her in waves as it conflicts with her sheer determination- struggling to put on a brave face as she struggles upright, running a tentative hand through the tangles of her hair as Tara edges back onto the bed, uncertain.

"We- you don't have to go," she says, and Donna snorts, peering at Tara through heavy lids and dropping the pretense of a smile.

"I heard your conversation with Gemma- your side, at least. I think I can guess the rest." Tara bites her lip, unsure what else to say. "I'm supposed to show up, put on the strong old lady act, reassure the rest of them that when the chips are down, I can count on the club to have my back." Donna shifts uncomfortably, moving into an upright position before fixing Tara with a humorless smirk. "Am I getting warm, here?"

"Donna-"

"_God…_ she's right, isn't she?" Donna half-laughs, going on as if Tara hadn't spoken, her voice breaking from the effort. "The club's the only family I've got here now- and for the next, what, ten years?" It's back in full force, the ache in her chest, but now she feels as if someone's reached right in and is pulling her heart out, the pain is so intense.

"We don't know that, Don- Rosen said the charges might not even stick and even then it depends how the sentencing goes… and Ope's never been arrested before. Plus, there's your parents-" Donna snorts again, a tear rolling down each cheek as she shakes her head, frustrated.

"My parents left town after we graduated, remember? They begged me to come with them the first time they saw Opie in a kutte, but I didn't listen, didn't want to hear what they thought they knew about SAMCRO." Donna shrugs, but the casual gesture doesn't bely the pain on her delicate features as she turns her eyes to Tara once again. "They haven't returned my calls in months, did you know that? I left messages on their answering machine, called at different times of the day, but…" Her voice trails off before she clears her throat, seeming to steel herself before continuing, wryly. "I made my choice, you know? I picked Ope- picked _us_\- and I picked SAMCRO in the process. I guess that's the one choice they couldn't forgive."

"You have Piney, Donna- he loves you just as much as he loves Ope," Tara insists, picking up Donna's hand from where it rests limply in her lap and squeezing it hard. "And you have Jax and me."

"Tare…." Donna's eyes close briefly before she continues. "Do you remember when you told me you and Jax were working it out- how to stay together, stay in the club, go to med school, all of it?" Guiltily, Tara nods, her heart sinking as she realizes what Donna's getting at. "A couple years from now, you'll have to make the same decisions I did, and I know which one you'll choose- which one you _should_ choose before Jax is in county with Opie and you're here alone like me. But if you don't… well, either way I was right, wasn't I?"

Tara frowns, simultaneously trying to ignore the guilt welling up in her throat over the niggling sense of relief she's been keeping at bay that, at least it hadn't been Jax, and trying to figure out just what Donna's getting at.

"What are you saying?"

Donna smiles, sadly, squeezing Tara's hand briefly before patting it and rolling away, shifting to her feet unsteadily.

"You and Jax… you're SAMCRO now, just as much as the rest of them. No matter what happens, this club's my only family, now."

"Donna-"

"I can't talk about this anymore, Tare. " Suddenly, Donna can't look her in the eye, her own flitting around the apartment as if to find something- _anything_\- to talk about instead. Absently, she plucks at the drawstring of the gigantic SAMCRO hoodie she's currently drowning in- Opie's- before seeming to land on something to say, some way out of the only conversation they've had in days. "I mean, I gotta, um…" awkwardly, Donna jerks her head over her shoulder, in the general direction of the bathroom.

Christ, things between them had never been awkward...not since the very first night Ope had introduced the bright, sweet girl who would become the love of his life.

Ignoring the pang in her gut at the thought of that first night the four of them had cemented their friendship around Piney Winston's kitchen table, Tara assumes her best version of a smile- though she doubts she's fooling Donna any more than she's fooled herself.

"Yeah- okay," she half-whispers, unsure just how her voice will come out if she dares to raise it. "Then I'll get cleaned up and we'll-"

But Donna's already gone, closing the bathroom door soundlessly behind her.

* * *

_I need you._

Those are the words Gemma had used on the phone – and as much as Tara had wished they'd been spoken by Jackson himself, she'd managed to read between the lines. Gemma, she'd reasoned, had had more than one ulterior motive, since she'd been barking commands at croweaters since long before Tara had been old enough to ride a bike, let alone sit on the back of Jax's.

The first, she was sure, was exactly what Gemma had alluded to during their conversation- to make some kind of statement to the club, and to the rest of the women under its umbrella. The other, however, was much less certain, but Tara suspects it's something Gemma had been pushing them towards since Jax had patched in.

_I need you, _in this case, may just as well have meant _he needs you. _And as much as Tara had wanted to roll her eyes at the "Stand By Your Man" shit Gemma had practically been shoving down her throat since the before he'd even patched in… she _knows_ Jax- had known him almost as well as she knew herself for years, now- and if there was one thing she'd learned over the intervening years, it was that they both handle things much better together.

So, she'd gone- though a full hour later than Gemma had ordered – and been greeted by every Old Lady and pseudo-Old Lady Gemma could muster, including Precious, who'd quickly thrown a meaty arm around Donna's shoulders; Angela, who'd shot Tara a sympathetic look but had been almost instantly monopolized by a grinning Kozik; and the thin, slip of a croweater Tig seemed to be tapping whose name Tara can't recall. Lurking in the wings were a few girlfriends and croweaters, each of whom had taken their turn exchanging comforting hugs and kisses on the cheek with an impressively steadfast Donna.

Somehow, on the ride over, Donna had managed to find within herself the shred of SAMCRO Old Lady she'd never known existed. She'd detached herself from Precious and walked right up to Gemma, allowing herself to be enfolded in the older woman's embrace, and the entire clubhouse had fallen silent despite the crowded conditions. The rest of the night, as patched members filtered in, it had been left mostly to Tara to coordinate the efforts of croweaters and Old Ladies alike, as Gemma had remained firmly at Donna's side.

The women there had quickly complied with her firm- albeit polite, because Jesus _Christ_ she's not fucking_ Gemma- _instructions for manning the bar and doling out drinks. The slowly creeping sense of… not only pride- in both Donna and herself- but power Tara had felt, briefly, as all the croweaters obeyed her every command had begun almost immediately. Unfortunately, that had all slipped away the moment Jax had appeared in the clubhouse door.

Even now, Tara's heart kicks up a notch at the thought of him as he'd been that night; windblown, more than a little dirty from the road, and looking supremely exhausted and just… _careworn_, her mind had supplied, absently, as her hands had fallen still by her sides- _Jesus, what was she, a fucking word of the day calendar?_ But all thoughts- all the noise- had drained away the moment she'd seen him for the first time since Rosen had brought them the news about Opie's probable sentence. His eyes- those beautiful, blue eyes she'd been needing to help form some sort of anchor for herself for days, needing to reassure herself of… everything really- searched the room a moment before alighting on Tara.

Somewhere, in the alternately wandering turns and blissful blackness her mind had taken during those past few days of wallowing in Donna's – and her own- misery, she'd pictured this moment. Jax would stalk through that door, somehow her Jackson again- and their eyes would meet across the crowded main room of the clubhouse. He'd push through the crowd on his way to her, patched members and croweaters alike, and he wouldn't stop until his fingers were scraping the base of her scalp, until his forehead was resting against her own and their breaths were mingling as she took what felt like her first full breath in days.

He'd tell her that it would all be okay, that he was still here with her, that his father's club wouldn't someday cause his deceptively fragile heart to become locked away from her for years or decades at a time… his eyes peering into her soul, correctly reading her heartache as part of his own. Then, together, they'd turn to Donna, fusing the renewed strength they'd gleaned from the other, and just… _be_.

Tara hadn't gotten much further than that- in fact, she'd only really allowed herself to focus on the one moment that would jolt everything back into place… the moment her eyes found his and everything made sense again.

Only, that moment had never happened.

The second Jax's eyes had rested on her own, he'd glanced away, briefly, off into the darkened corner of the room that housed the jukebox. Tara's eyes had followed, rested briefly on the lonesome jukebox itself- still dutifully playing some Skynyrd song or other- before following the path his gaze seemed to have singed into the atmosphere around it, so intense she could swear she saw wisps of smoke, and back to Jackson's burning blues themselves. He was avoiding her gaze, she knew then, the realization somehow as certain as the sun setting beneath the horizon behind him. She had precious little time to contemplate either this fact or the swinging door that closed once he moved a step further into the room before something all too familiar seemed to pass over his features.

His eyes shifted, hesitantly, to meet hers, but- unlike in her visions of what she'd wanted, _needed_, from him, there was nothing there. He'd sent her a casual wink and a brief grin across the room- the one she'd seen him direct at countless, faceless, blondes her first few days back in Charming – and in that moment she suddenly knew she could have been anyone.

Frozen, somehow- an all-new, painful lump beginning to grow in her throat even as he'd averted his gaze again and started towards the bar-Tara had watched as he'd stopped halfway, spoken briefly to JT and Piney, then continued on toward the business end of the bar where Gemma and Donna held court. Each of them had received a kiss on the cheek and a few words- loud as it was, she hadn't been able to make out his voice above the din- and then, he'd sauntered behind the bar and towards her, looking every bit the cocky Prince she knew he used as a mask.

He'd quickly ducked under the bar to hunt down a fresh beer before straightening and tossing the cap into the trash.

Christ, she'd missed him- hadn't known, truly, how to exist in a world where Ope was locked up, and Jax wasn't there to provide an anchor, a mooring for all the desperate energy she'd been trying to contain since… well, since before the distance between them had taken root weeks and weeks ago, punctuated by the all-too-brief moments of respite. She'd wanted to say all of this, wanted to take him by the hand and lead him away, brush her lips against his own until they poured out either the truth she knew he needed to speak or the reassurances she knew she needed to hear…

But she'd done neither, realizing in that moment that he'd still not actually looked at her beyond the same greeting he'd given to croweaters and old ladies alike, but focused his attentions on the bottle in his hand. Suddenly desperate to fill the silence between them, she'd bitten her lip, hard enough to tinge her mouth with the faint taste of copper- and then caught Gemma's wary eye over his shoulder, her gaze as dark as the leather of his kutte.

And suddenly, she was _tired_. Too tired to decipher what, exactly, Gemma was trying to tell her, with her pointed gaze and raised brow. Too tired to respond to Jax's offhand I'm gonna take a shower or the brief graze of his lips on her cheek. Too tired, even, to react as he'd nodded at her in greeting and slouched away without another word, another look.

Later, after most of the members had filtered out into the lot, jostling and laughing – after Kozik and Angela had said their goodbyes and Donna had gone to lie down in Opie's room – Gemma arose from her perch on JT's lap, catching Tara's eye and striding purposefully across the room.

"Thanks for your help tonight, Tara," she'd said, tapping a finger emphatically on the weathered wood. "Girls needed that- needed to see us all together, strong." Briefly, her dark eyes flickered towards the back, towards the darkness Jax had disappeared into an hour ago. She'd continued before Tara had a chance to respond.

"S'what he needed too, baby. He needed to be with his family, his brothers." Gemma pursed her lips, as if unsure how Tara would react to what crossed them next. "And it's what the club needs- they need to know Jax is strong, that he ain't lettin' this shit with Ope cloud what's important. Shows 'em he's committed." Somehow, her gaze intensified as she leaned across the bar top just the slightest bit- enough to let Tara know whatever she was about to say next was what she'd meant to say all along.

"If you go back there, you make sure you go in strong- be there for him, be what he needs. You understand me, sweetheart?" Unsure she'd ever really understand Gemma's perspective on everything SAMCRO, Tara had only managed to bite her lip, again, before Gemma smirked. "I was afraid of that." Studying Tara a moment longer, she'd seemed to weigh her words carefully before rising from the bar stool and smiling, this time sympathetically. "If you don't think you can keep yourself together right now, just give him a while before you go back there. Find that… _something_, inside yourself, put away aaalll that shit I know your busy little brain can't stop thinking, and-"

Gemma's voice had died abruptly when Tara – unsure in the moment whether her feet were truly underneath her and even less sure whether she was walking away in defiance or obedience – spun on a heel and strode toward the back without a word.

Gemma didn't follow at her heels like Tara'd thought she would, didn't call out, either – though, if she had, Tara doubts now that she'd have heard her.

Down the darkened hall she'd gone, practically strutting – probably in some feeble-ass attempt at forcing Gemma to eat her words, and in marked contrast to the way Jax had gone before her. She'd paused only briefly at Opie's door but hadn't stopped, turning away and soldiering on in an attempt to blot out the impudent way one of her friend's beloved knit beanies still hung from the hook mounted there. Then, she'd reached her destination- the familiar apartment at the end of the hallway- and it had struck her with sledgehammer-like force that she'd walked through this door hundreds of times, in hundreds of ways, and never once been afraid of what she might find there.

Until now.

Afraid of _what_, exactly, she hadn't given herself time to contemplate, had just opened the door, tentatively, before stepping inside and closing and locking it behind herself. She'd felt her way across the small space in the close darkness as her eyes adjusted to the light, but the moment they had, what she'd been fearing became crystal clear.

The moon had conspired against her, emerging from behind a cloud at that particular moment to send a shaft of pale light through the small window next to the bed, which had glinted off the large mirror on the opposite side of the room and directly onto what had been her pillow, back when she and Jackson had lived here at the clubhouse – back before his assumptions and her secrets, before his club had taken away their best friend.

It was almost gleaming white in the moonlight – the small rectangle of paper that was almost instantly recognizable as a sheet ripped out of the tiny notebooks both Jax and JT habitually carried. It had taken her a few steps to recognize the sharp, strong handwriting on it – and to come to the slow, yet jarring, realization that the rest of the bed, though cloaked in relative darkness compared to the right-hand pillow, was empty.

Tara barely remembers those last few steps to the bed, but for some reason, the memory of the way the paper had felt substantial, heavy, under her fingertips comes roaring back, as do the relatively few words he'd left her.

_Felt wrong, being here without Ope- went for a ride to get my head straight. See you after Piney and I get back from tomorrow's run.  
-Jax_

Even now, Tara can't quite put together just how Jax had managed to slip out of the clubhouse away from Gemma's watchful eye. That night, she'd felt practically no confidence in her ability to do the same, so she'd stayed, only leaving the next morning after she'd heard the rumbling of bikes that signified the rest of the SAMCRO faction had taken off. Somehow, she'd also waited out Gemma and Donna, she'd noted upon seeing the lot empty of the signature black Caddy.

They'd gone to retrieve some of Donna's things from her apartment, she knows now, the first of many trips they- well, eventually Jax, Piney, and some of the hangarounds- would make to fully move Donna out of the apartment and into the clubhouse. Since then, they'd all just sort of… existed, skirting along the fringes of each other's lives, as if the only thread that held them together in the first place was-

"Tara- needle holder?"

As Angela's voice seems to echo in the otherwise muffled silence of the operating room, her uncharacteristically annoyed tone is Tara's second clue that this isn't the first time she's asked… second only to the outstretched hand and the matching, quizzical expressions on both the doctor and assistant's faces.

"Shit, sorry." Clearing her throat, Tara focuses _attempts_ to focus- on the tray of instruments in front of her. _Speculum, forceps, scalpels… _Desperately, Tara racks her brain for any scrap of a recollection as to what comes next- partially to avoid having to ask the young vet to repeat her request but mostly to avoid having to explain the utter fog she's currently in. _Christ, Knowles, you know this- simple incision…_  
  
Correctly reading her hesitation, Angela's voice- gentler, now- breaks into Tara's reverie once again.

"Tara, why don't you go ahead and take lunch? I just need to close up- Sara's got it from here." She smiles behind her mask, crinkling the corners of her eyes, kindly, and suddenly, Tara knows that if they hadn't currently been gloved up and standing over an anesthetized patient, she'd have lurched forward to hug the woman that had become her friend.

Nodding, bleakly- unsure if the hot flush currently creeping up her chest is from general mortification at freezing up mid-surgery or from the sheer restraint it's taking her not to completely blow surgical hygienic protocol- Tara turns without a word and makes for the door.

The apple tastes like dust in her mouth, as do the few handfuls of crackers she manages to choke down, but the thought of the food serving its purpose- delivering nutrients to her body, fueling it with tiny packets of energy destined only to sustain her, keep her moving through the rest of this hellish day- well… it's oddly comforting, in the way pretty much nothing else has been recently.

Sighing and brushing stray cracker crumbs from the table, Tara checks the clock above the narrow doorway- Christ, has it really only been fifteen minutes? Groaning softly, she rests her head on her forearms, welcoming the relative darkness of the space between- as close to blissful nothing as she can get while-

"You okay?"

_So much for nothing…_

That's been a large part of the problem for the past few weeks, Tara realizes even as Angela smiles apologetically and hangs her lab coat on its hook beside the kitchen door- this dichotomy she's been living has left her with alternately too much and too little time to think.

Rubbing her temples, she tamps down the memories that threaten- the flash of blonde hair and bright blue eyes that have been the only thing in her life these past few years that truly keep the noise at a minimum- and tries to focus on Angela, who is busying herself at the counter, pointedly not looking her way or forcing an answer to the question she'd asked nearly a minute ago, now.

"Yeah... sorry," she replies, forcing a light laugh that sounds foreign to her ears. "I guess I've just been a little distracted, I'm-"

"Tara, you just completely zoned out. _In surgery_," Angela responds, quietly settling into the chair across from her. "I must have said your name three times before you finally snapped out of it- its like you didn't even know we were there." Wincing internally, Tara shrugs, tracing her fingernail along a crack in the weathered Formica.

"I think I'm just tired- I haven't been sleeping well, you know?" Angela eyes her a long moment before placing the bagel on a napkin and smiling sympathetically and Tara releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I don't sleep well when- uh… when Kozik's not home, either." Angela's cheeks pinken noticeably, and Tara's barely filed away the information that- at least to some extent- her boss and Kozik are apparently living together, when a totally different question altogether occurs to her-

"Wait- what do you call Kozik at home?" As the pink tint of the vet's cheeks turns, very noticeably, into a full-on blush, Tara can't resist continuing, "_Please_ tell me it's Herman-"

"That… I think I'll save just for us." The raised eyebrow is what tells Tara the subject's closed, for now, but it's the faint smile – the truly happy, carefree-in-love expression on Angela's face that has Tara's chest aching again. If pressed to recall the last time she'd worn that same expression, she truly doesn't know what the answer would be.

"When is Jax back?" Brought, for the umpteenth time today, out of a fog of racing thoughts and too much… noise, Tara snorts.

"Who knows? He's been taking on all of Opie's runs plus his own. And when he is in town, he's been at the garage, covering Opie's shifts. He even sleeps over there when they get in late and he's got to open the next morning." Angela seems to take this in, chewing in silence a moment before responding.

"Are you worried about him over at the clubhouse? I mean, I've seen the way those girls act sometimes-"

"No," Tara fills in quickly, "It's- I mean, I trust him, and he's never given me a reason not to. And I can't be upset he's doing what he's got to do for the club, for work- for Ope."

"But how long's he going to keep this up, Tara? He's got to be exhausted- Christ, _you've_ got to be exhausted. In fact, if today's any indicator, I know you're feeling it, too. I know brotherhood means a lot to those guys, but…" Angela shrugs, helplessly, mirroring a stance Tara knows for a fact she'd taken a year or two ago when confronted with what had seemed like Jax's millionth late-night task as a prospect. She feels the corners of her mouth lift, slightly, for what seems like the first time in days- a smile brought on by the thought of the beautiful, loyal man she misses more than words- before she responds, softly.

"His loyalty is one of the things I love so much about him, I think- he'd do anything to make sure his friends and his club are okay."

"But when does that same loyalty, his dedication to keeping his word, extend to you?"

Moments tick by- moments in which Tara can practically hear the blood rushing through her veins, her own heartbeat thumping as she searches, desperately, for the answer she'd given herself time and again over the past week or two. Finding it, she shrugs, just as Angela had moments before.

"This isn't about me right now- or about us."

Angela's expression turns sympathetic, and- just for a moment- Tara has to bite back the other words she's been telling herself for days. _At least I still have him- at least he's still mine._ And just like every other time that thought has crossed her mind, she's immediately flushed with alternating waves of guilt and something pretty fucking close to panic. Christ it could have been Jax, out there, running some errand for the club. It could have been him in jail, potentially into his forties. And how shitty of a friend is she – to both Opie and Donna- for being grateful it wasn't?

But she doesn't say any of that, just watches as Angela shakes her head, frustrated.

"_This_ isn't. At least, not yet. But I'll tell you what_ is_\- Jax made a promise to his club back when he patched in. But if I'm remembering correctly, he made one to you, too."

"We- we're not leaving until I finish my classes here. He hasn't broken any promises, Angela." And he hadn't. _He won't. _Tara finishes, silently, since that bit of reassurance is for her own benefit anyway. Apparently, however, Angela should have heard it, too, because she leans forward in her chair.

"But he's making a choice right now, Tara- one that didn't include you. And look what's happened-" Angela gestures frantically towards Tara as if to emphasize her point… look what's happened to you. "You're not yourself, haven't been for a long time- even before Opie got arrested- and I'm not sure why. Hell, I haven't even asked, 'cause I get it- we're friends, but at the end of the day, I'm still your boss. But you're just not…" her hands flail a moment as she searches for the right word, "You're just not _you_." Biting her lip, but done- spent- Angela settles back in her chair, eyeing Tara cautiously. Christ, what the hell do you even say to that? Briefly, a saying, trite though it is, flashes through Tara's mind, stinging even as it flits away. _The truth hurts._

"I… I don't know what to say to that," Tara murmurs, finally- truthfully. And she doesn't; all the shit between she and Jax in the months prior- from the pregnancy mix-up to the full-on blowout they'd had the night of Opie's arrest- all of it had either been pushed aside by further misery or she just hadn't been able to bring herself to discuss it yet again with Angela. And she sure as shit doesn't have the energy to do it now. Angela just shakes her head, again.

"Say you're at least doing _some_thing for yourself, that you've registered for your summer session classes, or that you've considered taking that scholarship after all-" Instantly, Tara feels her face flush, struck suddenly by yet another part of life- another part of the real world- she'd let fall by the wayside these last several days. Christ, those scholarship papers were almost exactly where she'd left them the night Jax had found them- though pushed aside and underneath a stack of mail on her kitchen table to prevent them from becoming collateral damage during the relatively few meals she'd eaten there in the past days.

And classes; _Jesus_, she'd barely been able to bring herself to get ready for work- classes had been the last thing on her mind. Cheeks burning, she lifts her eyes to Angela's once again, and the other woman releases a slow breath.

"Sweetie, if you don't finish your pre-reqs before you transfer, it's gonna set you back a semester or more. And if Opie stays in jail, and Jax doesn't-"

"I know!" she snaps, and Angela flinches just a bit, sending another flood of guilt washing over her, but she can't- fucking can't- bring herself to let the young vet finish her sentence."I got it under control, okay? I promise."

It's probably the first outright lie she's ever told her boss, but somehow, that doesn't make it feel any less shitty.

* * *

The days that follow do nothing to subdue the noise that's become an ever-present force inside Tara's head – Christ, her very soul – since Angela had started her overactive mind working overtime once again. Despite spending her days at work, at the clubhouse, trying to drown out the voice- whispering one moment, screaming the next, telling her everything has changed- it's as if she's existing in some sort of purgatory, unable to move in either direction.

Surrounded by people- at the clubhouse, the vet clinic- she can't seem to banish the lurking sensation of being alone in a room full of people. At night, though, in her bed alone, with Jax endlessly away on what he perpetually dismisses as "club business"… the noise in her head- the what ifs, the could have beens- its fucking relentless. Lately, the only way she's been getting any peace is to take a page out of Jax's own book – long showers with water almost hotter than she can stand, succumbing to the near-suffocating comfort of the billowing steam until the water runs cold, sharply jerking her back into what's become her personal hell.

Today, though… not even blistering hot water and a flickering candle can keep the nagging doubts away. Sighing, Tara closes her eyes against the steady stream that's been blasting against her scalp for the past ten minutes, well aware that it hadn't even taken her until the water was lukewarm to get inundated by everything her life has very quickly become.

Maybe this afternoon- the first she'll have free since she and Donna had taken their two-day hiatus from life- she'll-

"Oh holy _shit!_"

Jerking back as the water- suddenly freezing- sends icy needles into her very bones, Tara nearly loses her footing before slapping a palm onto the tiled wall in an effort to stay upright. Twisting the knob, she watches as the water slows to a trickle, today's pseudo-reprieve from all the things – all the thoughts and fears she'd been diligently, unsuccessfully, avoiding – coming to an abrupt end.

Closing her eyes, briefly, she tries to recapture the momentary calm that comes when she's encased in a cloud of steam. But, just like the fog in the air inside of the close confines of the shower had dissipated as the water turned cold, so, too, had any delusion she'd had about clearing her head.

_Christ, Knowles- get your shit together._

That's the thought that's echoing in her mind as she pulls back the shower curtain, and still yet as she nearly jumps out of her skin when her gaze lands on the tall figure sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, silent, in counterpoint to the still-dripping faucet.

"Jesus Chr- Jax?" Tara can't help the screech she emits- the second in as many minutes- any more than she can the sudden, reflexive, need to whip the closest towel- _his_ towel- off the hook and wrap it around herself defensively, no matter how many times he's seen her naked, willing, and open for him.

He smiles- at least, she thinks he does, his features blurred by the persistent haze in the small room and darkened further due to the fact that the overhead light has burnt out. It's a testament to just how little he's been in the apartment, really- Tara can't reach any of the fixtures without use of the ladder over at the clinic, so Jax had been performing any and all handy work around the place… usually with a wink and a suggestive joke about her payment for services rendered. She'd noticed the darkness at one point shortly after Ope had- well… it just hadn't been a priority at the time, so she'd been taking long baths and steaming showers by candlelight. Just as well, anyway.

Whether steam or darkness, the relative depths that hide Jax's figure do nothing to stop the immediate reaction his presence triggers within Tara, spurred on by the fact that his eyes- as piercingly blue as ever- seem to be burning through the space between them in direct contrast to the casual, slightly upward shift she thinks his mouth has taken.

"Didn't mean to scare you, Babe." The smirk- yes, that's definitely what it is, she can read him much more easily than before as her senses adjust to being near him once again- would have been suggestive at any other time, perhaps a precursor to him tugging his towel on down her torso and sliding it to the floor. She can feel it, what his presence does to her, how the memories of other times they'd shared together in these close confines threaten.

Thoughts of her back pressed against the tile walls recede just as the smirk slides off his lips, replaced by another, even stronger urge- to reach across the space and touch him, feel his cheek under her fingertips for the first time in days, soothe the worry and heartache right out of him. As if she even believed that she could.

She doesn't- just like she hadn't gone to him that day in the clubhouse despite the same rush of emotions, the same, haggard look about the hollows of his eyes. That day, it had been because she'd been so certain he'd come to her. Today, though… the stinging memory of how he'd shuttered himself away from her that night and kept their interactions as casual as he might one of his mother's friends, combined with the way he suddenly looks as though he's simultaneously bursting at the seams to say something, yet reluctant to speak all at the same time, has Tara standing silently, searching his eyes for… _something_. That spark of need, the light of love, anything but the intense, immense control that's alight in them now, even as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, fidgeting with the heavy gold rings on three long, strong fingers.

Seconds tick by- though they may as well have been minutes, hours, and Tara's shifting to tuck the towel even closer to herself before Jax blinks once, slowly, as if steeling himself to do whatever it is he'd clearly come in here to do.

"Ope's hearing was supposed to be this afternoon," Jax says, quietly, carefully- though that's not a note she fully registers until moments later and a few seconds too late.

"Jesus," Tara breathes, really for lack of anything better to say until her reeling brain catches up with her mouth as much as sheer dismay he hadn't mentioned the hearing to her at all before now. Then, the gravity of what he's said truly hits her. "_Shit_\- it's already noon. But I'm off today- well, even if I wasn't, Angela'd understand. Just let me find something to-"

"Tara." He looks pained, suddenly- annoyed even. "Just… don't. Please?" He doesn't give her time to respond before rushing on, expelling the rest of what he has to say in a single, hard breath. "The hearing was supposed to be this afternoon, but at eight this morning, Piney got a call at home, right as we were getting ready to close up the garage and head up north; it was Rosen, said the DA had pulled some strings and pushed it through yesterday, when he thought we were riding to Tacoma." _Christ, what was last night? Monday? _Tara thinks, frantically, before he's speaking once again. "They'd pushed some sort of last-minute deal on him- reveal the source of the $50 k, give up the club, and in exchange he'd get a shitload of probation for both the witness tampering and bribery." A ghost of a wry smile graces his lips for a brief moment, and Tara seizes upon his silence as the possibility behind what he's said registers.

"But he…" What she _should _say is quickly overtaken by the truth that tumbles out a moment later. "Jesus Christ Jax, tell me he took the deal. The club didn't officially have anything to do with him getting that money, and you and I both know it. JT and Piney… they'd never risk him like that." Jax snorts, averting his eyes before they graze the ceiling- evidently, asking some power above for the gift of patience.

"Admitting he got that money from someone- even a non club member with close ties?" Jax shakes his head, and instantly, the events of that night finally click into place; it must have been Luanne- and, by extension, Otto- that had convinced Opie to try to speak to the witness and given him the cash… not the club. As if he's reading her thoughts, Jax snorts again. "May as well be the club. Unless Ope talks, though, there's no pinpointing who."

"There's no way JT would let Opie go down for shit the club didn't even do," Tara murmurs, bitterly, "and Otto's already in jail, so-"

"Otto's Ope's sponsor," Jax says, simply, as if that made all the difference in the world. "And JT didn't get the chance to talk to him before that bullshit hearing." He chuckles, humorlessly. "They pushed that shit deal on him, moved the hearing up, made him think he didn't have any other options... " His eyes meet Tara's, honest, matter-of-fact – but almost vacant, now, and Tara shivers. "They knew us too well, Tara. Sons don't rat; Ope'd never give up his club or his sponsor, but they got their blood for this shit either way." His jaw sets, tightens, working the muscles near his temple until Tara has a fleeting glimpse of the rage he's rarely shown in front of her. Then-

"They convicted him, Tara- they'd dropped the bribery charges because they couldn't prove Ope wasn't under duress himself, but state witness tampering's still good for a ten-year bid. The reason Rosen called Piney this morning… they'd pushed the sentencing, too- probably hopin' to keep SAMCRO in the dark until this was all over. Rosen thinks the reason they've moved so quickly on Ope while keepin' Otto hanging is intentional, see what the club'll do to try to cut Otto loose, take as many of us down in the process as possible."

"Ten years…" she barely hears herself whisper, and suddenly, she's overcome with a wave of dizziness and an almost uncontrollable urge to throw up, to sit down before her legs completely disappear from beneath her. Instead, she merely rests a hand on the wall nearby as he continues.

"Five to ten," he corrects, "possibility of parole sooner than that, but since its an indeterminate sentence- and with his associations- parole ain't likely." Again, Tara marvels at how stoic, how fucking… _emotionless_ he is about this whole thing. Especially in comparison to how she and Donna had-

"Donna!" she blurts, suddenly, her heart lurching into her throat. "Did she-"

"Mom and I handled it right before I came here," Jax responds, a bit thickly. "She's… well, she's okay, considering. She and Gemma are headed over to Piney's to check in. He's gonna go up to try and see Ope before they move him, then over to that shitty little town to break the news to Mary." He scoffs, bitterly. "Mary's gonna shit a brick, even though she ain't reached out to Ope, Donna, Piney or anyone goddamn else since-."

"Is it really that surprising, Jax? I mean, the woman's son just got locked up for years. That's at least five years before he can see her outside of a state prison. Five years before he'll be able to go see her on her birthday, or give her a hug on Christmas day. And what about Donna? Christ, even Opie himself- especially Opie. It'll be at least five years before he'll be able to marry the love of his life, before they'll start their lives together the way they'd planned."

"You don't think I know that?" His voice comes, quietly, this time, but steady- sure, even. "Five years, away from his brothers, his old man, his girl…" he swallows, with difficulty. "If he'd have just told me what they-" Cutting himself off and shaking his head in disgust, Jax swipes a frustrated hand down his face. "Forget it. Club business."

What the hell? Tara has a brief moment in which to process what he's just said before she realizes he's about to get up, about to leave- and based on the events of the past few weeks, who the hell knows when she'll see him again, or when they'll talk… _if _they'll talk, since Jax seems singularly focused on somehow becoming both himself and Opie.

"_Club business?_" The words are spoken at a hiss, with enough venom to halt Jax's progress and have him sinking back down onto his seat. "Our best friend gets arrested and locked up for five years, and all because of some non- SAMCRO sanctioned scheme from another member he didn't run by JT… and all of a sudden it's club business?"

"Tara-"

"It _isn't _club business! _None _of this is! As much as I love Ope, and as much as I think this ride-or-die shit is the trigger behind all of this, he got locked up because of choices _he _made." Jax is immediately defensive- she can see the shift in his posture- but she doesn't much care. "Choices you'd have been right there beside him making, if only you'd had the chance."

"He's not just my best friend- Christ, he's my_ brother_, Tara. We were born into this club together, we got our first bikes together, prospected together- I owed it to him to have his back, and I wasn't there for him."

He narrows his eyes at her, but just as before, there's no glimpse into the big heart she loves so much. It occurs to Tara that she's known him most of her life; despite the seven year gap in their history, she's since become closer to Jackson Teller than she has anyone on the planet. Hell, sometimes, when they're together, it seems like the lines between where he ends and she begins become blurred- like he's inside of her soul even when he's no longer inside of her body. This, coupled with his tempestuous psyche, means he's never been able to keep things from her; even when he's done his damndest to hide just how affected he was as a kid by JT's frequent jail sentences or later by JT's accident, Clay's death, Keith and Maureen's murder… or any of the other shit storms the club's brought their way. He's never completely been able to shutter his emotions away from her, at least not for long.

Now, though… Clay's words, spoken years ago as he'd encountered them in a heated kiss on the clubhouse pool table, return to her, unbidden.

_Like father like son, ain't ya?_

At the time, Clay had been referring to the Teller temper- the way Jax, JT, and even Gemma could keep the anger simmering just below the surface until it, strategically or no, boiled over, singing everyone in its proximity. But in this moment, Tara realizes that although Clay had never truly stepped into JT's boots- not for lack of trying, since he'd made inroads with Gemma, seized the gavel and the President's patch, and practically dismantled everything JT had ever wanted for SAMCRO- he'd somehow managed to leave an impression on his son.

When she'd returned from San Diego at fifteen, she'd quickly learned that the whole Prince of Charming swagger was partially the Teller Charm he had emanated since he was a kid, and partially his way of masking the pain his volatile heart had felt over the loss of his baby brother and the utter, fucked-up mess his family had become. He'd donned it at school, in the clubhouse- anywhere Charming at large might otherwise catch a glimpse of his big, damaged (in more ways than one) heart. Yet, they'd both recognized both the ease with which she, Tara, could slip beneath the mask and his relative relief when she saw him for what he truly was- and just like when they were kids, realized that she was the only one that could. She'd quickly resumed her role as guardian of Jackson Teller's heart.

Even since he'd become a prospect and patched SAMCRO, this cold, calculating side of the man he became when he left her side and went off to take care of club business- when he's Jax Fucking Teller instead of her Jackson- had once quickly slipped away the moment her arms fully encircled him.

The Jax that sits before her now, though, seems like a stranger- stony, cold, almost calculating- and Tara realizes instantly why Clay's comment from years ago had surfaced, just now; he reminds her of exactly why Clay had always scared her so much. As a shiver passes through her body- one she's entirely sure isn't due to the fact that she's still wrapped in a towel- a thousand thoughts swirl in her head- and Jax purses his lips impatiently. Smiling, sadly, Tara can only shrug in apology- for the truth she's about to speak.

"If he'd told you, you'd have been in jail right there with him- JT was right." At Jax's protest, she holds up a hand, surprisingly silencing him temporarily. "And now that you're not, you're half killing yourself to make up for it." Crossing quickly to him, she picks up his hand, presses it over her heart- maybe in an attempt to spark the connection she knows is still there, buried beneath the surface of all the things he thinks he has to be for Opie, for SAMCRO. "Opie got locked up because he let his obligations to his sponsor- to the club- rule his life. And now look at him- look at Donna-"

Abruptly, Jax snatches his hand away, his gaze narrowing further- strangely, it seems to spear its way through her heart now that their joined hands are no longer protecting it.

"That's brotherhood, Tara- that's family." His expression softens, minutely, as he assesses her. "Look, I don't expect you to understand- really. It's- I just can't explain it other than to say that Ope did what he did because he loves his club. Do I wish he'd have brought it to JT, done things the smart way, the club way? Sure. But that's not what happened, and now that he's inside, I'm gonna do whatever I can to keep my promise to him."

"What promise, Jax?" The words seem to exit on their own, slowly, softly- especially in comparison to the whirling, spinning, clusterfuck that is her mind. Jax looks away a moment before reluctantly raising his eyes to hers.

"Ope and I promised each other that if anything ever happened that took one of us away, we'd…" he struggles a moment to put his thoughts into words, gesticulating frustratedly with a hand before settling on what Tara's sure is the club-approved general as possible answer. "We'd take care of business." Her own frustration quickly rising, Tara steps back to the relative safety of the bath mat.

"But where does it end, Jax? You aren't two people- you can't go on like this, taking on all Opie's responsibilities, plus your own. You're exhausted, you haven't slept in your own bed for days... " she trails off, noting Jax's unchanged expression, unsure why it continues to stop her dead in her tracks, continues to squeeze her heart in a deadly grip- but it does. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Look, none of this has anything to do with you, okay? I told Ope I'd take care of Donna, make sure the club's okay, and I'm keepin' that promise." Christ, she harbors no doubts that he's just as desperate to help Ope as Opie was to help Otto. Can't he see he's risking himself? That he stands to lose just as much as Opie did when and if the opportunity comes knocking?

_Focus, Knowles._

And then, as she realizes this is now the second time since this whole mess began that someone she loves has accused her of making the situation about her, Tara stiffens.

"None of it?" She snorts, chuckling derisively as Jax's jaw tightens. "Maybe this isn't about me… but it _is _about _us_, Jax. You made your promises to Opie, but you also made a promise to me, too- hell, we _both_ made them." As a brief wash of guilt flickers across his strong features, Tara presses on, a growing kernel of dread slowly extending its tendrils into her heart. "I promised to give you time to patch into your father's club, time to prove yourself- and I've done that, Baby. I've nearly finished my associate's degree, ignored a full scholarship to practically any university in the Cal system, all so we can be together. And do you remember what you promised me?"

"Tara-"

"You promised me," she continues, flatly, ignoring whatever protest he'd begun, "that once I'd gone as far as I can here at Charming Community, that you'd transfer charters. Find someplace near a college town until I'm finished with med school, so we can be together."

"And we_ will_ be," Jax affirms- with more vehemence than he's put into any one statement since they'd gotten on this seemingly never ending loop of conversation- and it's the defiance of the hard set of his jaw that convinces her he means it. She can't help but smile, softly, once again closing the gap between them to graze her fingertips along the beloved lines of his cheek, his jaw, even as she continues, in a murmur.

"I know you believe that, Baby…" her hand drifts down to rest at her side before clutching the towel to her chest once again- almost as if to prepare her heart for what's next.

"I do, Tara- and I need you to believe it, too." Jax's eyes search hers a moment before softening, and he picks up her free hand, drawing it to his lips and pressing a brief kiss there before speaking against it, his warm breath heating her palm. "After all this shit's behind us- after Ope gets out, after the club's back up to full strength and Donna's…" He shrugs, looking up at her, his eyes affectionate but no less closed-off- "After all this, we'll get back to things the way we planned them, Babe."

And she wants nothing more than to close her eyes, push away all the noise and the worry until all that's left is them, hidden away from the world, planning their future together. But-

"I'm just being realistic, Jax. Five years now, plus the two or three to get my undergrad finished, the five it will take for med school, then up to eight for a surgical residency-"

"Tara, relax." Jax smiles up at her – affectionately, this time, and she knows he's chuckling, internally, at just how neurotic she is- always has been- about her education, probably the one interest they've never shared. "Those schools ain't goin' anywhere, and neither is St. Thomas. You can keep takin' classes over at CCC-"

_Christ, had he listened at all?_

"And you've got a good thing goin' with the vet clinic. Hell, you can probably take classes for that, be an actual assistant before Ope has his first parole hearing." Smirking, now- the entirety of the Teller charm now aimed in her direction, Jax lays another smacking kiss against her palm. Instead of its intended effect, however, his overly casual, cocky, demeanor only serves to fire off that final arrow of doubt, this one knifing its way through her chest until the words are bubbling up, as far beyond her control as any other aspect of this whole hell of a mess has been up until now.

"Tell me you love me."

It's not a demand, really, or even a plea- nothing all that complicated. Really, all she wants is to hear the words he hasn't spoken for God knows how long- the one thing in this shitty mess that needs to make sense.

Jax's brow knits, momentarily, and she can practically feel the questions before they cross his lips. _Why? Why are you asking me this? Why would you doubt me?_ But despite the fact that her mind is screaming the answers at him, he doesn't ask, barely hesitates before he gives his answer.

"I love you, Tara." He waits only a moment before swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing with

some difficulty, and continuing just as she thought- no, _knew _he would. "Do you love me?" And before she can stop herself, she's murmuring in response- though whether it's meant for Jax or herself, she'll never know.

"If I could stop I would-"

The brief flash of pain she glimpses in his eyes at her words is an odd reassurance- that he's still hers, that their connection still exists, somewhere beneath all the other shit piling up around them- and enough to trigger the rest of what's lingering at the tip of her tongue.

"I love you, Jackson." It's all she can say that hasn't been said, really- though somehow she knows this conversation isn't over, not by a long shot. It's enough to have the mask slipping back into place, though, and he's smiling again- though just barely- as he rises from his seat to press a kiss to her cheek, his hand resting lightly on her hip.

"We'll figure all this out, Tara- I promise. After I get back." His tone brooks no questions about where he's going- what he's doing, but like it or not, she's desperate enough to ask anyway.

"Another run?" He smiles, sadly, shifting towards the door and cracking it open, a shaft of light from the sunlit apartment creeping into the darkened bathroom.

"Naw- well… not technically. I'm ridin' up with Piney, show of support while he visits Ope, and Mary always did like me way more than his irritable ass. We figured it'd smooth things over as much as possible. We'll be back tomorrow, rest of the club's still up north."

"We need to talk about this, Jax," she mumbles, desperately, pleading wordlessly with him to hear her, even before she's able to put words to another plea. "I need to know you understand." Nodding resolutely, Jax lurches forward to kiss her again- this time, a thorough, wholly consuming mingling of breaths, tongue, and teeth, his big hands gently framing her face and making her heart pick up its pace once again. Just as she's about to lose herself in him- in them- he releases her, letting his fingertips drift down her neck, past her fluttering pulse, and on across her collarbone, before meeting her eyes with his own.

"I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?" Tara barely has the chance to nod in response before he's whirling back towards the door with a promise to call her from Mary's tonight, closing the door behind him and sending the room back into the shadows again. She's still there minutes later as the roar of his Dyna fades in the distance.

* * *

The first night Tara had expected Jax back from… wherever the hell he was, she'd lain awake like she hadn't done since Jax was first a prospect, waiting and worrying. Waiting for the familiar rumblings of his bike, idling safely next to the Cutlass in the gravel drive outside the apartment, but she hadn't been sure if she was worrying more that the sound would never come, or for his relative safety. As a result, she'd fallen into an uneasy sleep as the dawn broke through the tall oaks surrounding the old house.

The second night had been similar to the first, except that the familiar lump of worry in her gut had enlarged significantly. Although exhausted from a particularly long day at the clinic, Tara had slept fitfully, plagued by dreams of the future- one of herself working the counter at Charming Drug by day and patching up Sons with gunshot wounds by night.

The third night, plagued alternately by waking visions of the Dyna sliding sideways on pavement with its rider tumbling behind, and of her wayward boyfriend sipping a beer at a packed clubhouse while she slept unaware across town, she hadn't even given the actual dreams a chance to take hold. Instead, she'd waited until the sky darkened to a pitch black, slipped on a pair of jeans under Jax's SAMCRO t-shirt, climbed determinedly behind the wheel of the Cutlass, and driven across town. The lot had been deserted beneath the stark, buzzing lights above, and she'd nearly missed Gemma's sleek black Caddy parked in the shadows near the office door. Idling the Cutlass, Tara could glimpse the dim square of light emanating from the office window, and inside, Gemma's familiar silhouette, curved over the desk and shuffling papers. _So, JT wasn't home, either._ She'd quickly gunned the engine and driven the few miles home, unsure if she was more relieved there hadn't been a party here, tonight, or humiliated she'd actually driven by to see for herself.

The fourth night, she'd broken down and paged Jax, then lost count of the number of times she'd checked to ensure the old rotary phone that had come with the apartment was placed firmly on the hook. She'd dozed off in the chair- unwilling, for some subconscious reason, to spend yet another night in their bed alone. The dream that night had ended with Jax in prison, bleeding out in some darkened hallway with a crude metal blade jammed between his ribs. Well, more accurately, it had ended with her silent scream, the sweat and tears trickling down her face and merging into a thin river at her chin as she sat bolt upright in the chair.

And so, by this- the fifth day with no word from Jax or anyone else with a top rocker- Tara finds herself walking aimlessly down Charming's idyllic Main Street, several blocks from the vet clinic and, more importantly, miles away from Club Reaper. Really, she's not even sure what she's doing down here, other than distracting herself from the utter silence of the apartment. It had taken her about thirty minutes inside after an afternoon at the clinic to feel restless, almost itchy, as if the silence and the quickly compounding uncertainty were alive and moving, crawling and buzzing beneath her skin.

Christ, maybe she's losing it… or maybe, if she's being brutally honest with herself - and she usually is- the life she'd built for herself here, centered so firmly around the one person who'd so quickly become her lifeline, her everything, had been a path destined to bring her here at some point.

_We all make choices, Tara_, her mother had been fond of saying- albeit back when a poor choice had led to a skinned knee or a night without dessert- _and at the end of the day, we need to own up to those choices and accept their consequences._

Tara shakes her head, walking past their favorite Chinese restaurant, the tattoo shop where Jax had gotten his ink in memory of his baby brother, and the coin operated laundromat where she and Jax had spent a particularly memorable, hot afternoon waiting for her laundry with her back pressed up against a machine, their sighs echoing through the deserted space.

Consequences for coming back to Charming and immediately getting lost in the strong arms, blue eyes, and beautiful heart of Jackson hadn't even seemed particularly _consequential,_ at first. After all, he'd come with a childhood best friend, an eventual female confidante, a fierce mother, a strong father, and what was probably the most fucked up, yet loving, family Tara had ever known. Unfortunately, she'd also unknowingly toed the SAMCRO line and shut out, well… everyone else- and she's quickly learning that the problems that come with putting all your eggs in one basket only truly begin when the basket gets turned over.

Now, with Ope locked up, Gemma and Donna submerged somewhere in the depths of T-W or the clubhouse, Angela becoming closer to an old lady with each passing day, and Jax and the Sons God-knows-where, it's becoming very quickly evident that without the club, she's startlingly, achingly alone- but simultaneously unwilling to wrap her head around the effect it could have on the person she loves most of all.

She passes the diner- site of so many carefree burgers and shakes that she can almost see them there... Donna perched atop Opie's lap and laughing fit to kill, Jax tickling Tara in revenge for the way she'd polished off the last of his fries and leaning in to press a lingering kiss just below her ear- long enough to prompt Ope to roll his eyes and Donna to toss a straw wrapper in their general direction.

She's past the diner, but still lost in the ghost of a memory, when her body slams into something, stopping her progress and sending her reeling backwards. She manages to catch herself before she falls outright, and as steady hands grip her arm to help her regain her footing, she realizes something had, in fact, been_ someone_. Whoever this is had been coming out of Floyd's barber shop, which she's now standing in front ot, several doors down from the diner.

_Jesus, you really are losing it._

"Tara?"

_Someone's_ voice breaks through her jumbled thoughts, sending her back another step as his arms leave her, setting her upright on the sidewalk once again. He's staring, dark hair flopping over pale eyes as it always had in her memories of him, whether they were pleasant or exceedingly unpleasant- as were most of those more recent.

"Dad?"

Just over a year, now, they'd managed to coexist in this small town without speaking, without interacting- hell, Tara can't remember the last time she'd even glimpsed her father in a crowd. But here he stands, now, his hands shoved in his pockets, clearly having come straight from a haircut and shave at Floyd's. A memory surfaces of her father's regular alternating Saturdays at the barber shop when she was a kid; he'd come home smooth-faced, smelling of spice, and joking about having his ears lowered, and almost inevitably, he'd bring her a brightly wrapped candy from the enormous jar Floyd used to keep at the counter.

"Hey," Rick says, finally, reaching up to rub the back of his neck the way he always had when he was uncomfortable.

"Hey," she replies, sending him an uneasy smile, unsure what else you are supposed to say to the father you've been living within two miles of but haven't bothered to contact for over a year. "You look good, Dad." And he does. At some point during her mother's illness and then over the intervening years he'd spent mostly in a half-drunk haze, he'd quit going to Floyds, choosing to let his hair grow in tangled waves towards his collar- almost resembling the very bikers he'd grown to dislike. Now, though, it's almost as if Rick Knowles had managed to regain some of the dignity he'd slowly allowed to get stripped away in the dark void he'd sunken into when Grace died. Tara finds herself noting the burnished hairs at his temples, the rumpled- but clean- work shirt, the familiar work boots, almost as if he were a stranger that she couldn't quite place rather than the man that had cradled her in his arms the night she was born and countless nights since.

He returns the smile, though it's much shorter-lived than her own as he studies her from top to bottom.

"I'd say the same- Jesus, you still look just like your mother... but I'd be lyin' if I told you you didn't look exhausted." He pauses then, as if carefully considering his next query. "You okay?" At this, she shrugs, certain he's referring to the black circles she'd noted beneath her eyes just that morning, but altogether _uncertain_ just what sort of answer he's looking for. She takes a breath before responding, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, I guess." She raises a dark brow, lets the returning "_and you?"_ go unspoken as Rick shrugs and lets the moment pass, much to her relief.

"Same as always." She's wondering just how true this is- how much he'd fallen back into his old ways despite his current, relatively put-together appearance- when he adds, "You back from school for the summer?"

"Uh, actually, I've been taking classes over at CCC, remember? Just trying to get a jump on my undergrad for whenever I do choose a school." At this, Rick shakes his head, scanning the streets nearby, for what, Tara isn't sure until he continues.

"I guess I didn't remember." He clears his throat. "I've been seein' the Teller kid around town, in and outta Lodi… and I ain't seen you on the back of his bike, so I thought…" Again, he looks away and shakes his head, as if ridding himself of the urge to finish that sentence. Instead, he takes a completely different tack, just as disjointed as his first, his eyes meeting Tara's once again. "Though I do remember givin' you my Cutlass, partially so you'd be free to do what you needed to do, go where you needed to go, without havin' to rely on anyone else. But do you remember what I said when I gave it to you?"

Tara remembers all too well the "Cats in the Cradle" moment they'd had when her father, fresh off a three day bender and freshly showered and shaved, had given her the Cutlass, his pride and joy. His words from that day that come rushing back, even as he raises a questioning brow.

"_The life he lives- the life his family lives- it's only a matter of time before he gets arrested, or worse. You let him continue to be your whole world, what do you think's gonna happen when all that's taken away?_

_You wind up like me, with nobody and nothing else to pull you out of the black hole you'll find yourself in."  
_

And she'd reassured him- reassured_ herself,_ really- with talk of the plan she and Jackson had built, together- their mutual dream of making it out of Charming and seeing the world before coming back to take their respective places at the head of the reaper table and as St. Thomas' leading surgeon. And now that it's all falling apart, here she is again, prepared to defend it to her absentee father. As if he knows something she doesn't, Rick's smiling, sadly- just as he had that day.

"If I remember correctly, the gist of it was that you'd get outta here, go to college and start your own life." He silences her retort with a hand, and whatever excuse she'd been ready to make dies on her lips, already flimsy before she's even formulated it. "I know I ain't been a model father, and I sure as hell ain't been involved in your life enough lately to even begin to know where to start with tellin' ya what to do with it. But it's clear somethin's goin' on," he gestures at her with a steady hand. "I won't ask what, but from the looks of you, you ain't slept in a week."

Silence ensues, and Tara focuses on a tiny hole, frayed on the inside of her shoe- refusing to give her father the opportunity to give her baggy eyes and sallow complexion another once-over or provide any reasons for either. He chuckles derisively, breaking the silence.

"Didn't think so." Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his shoulders dip as he digs his keys out of his pocket. "The deal still stands, Tara. Get some time away, go to school, make somethin' of yourself. Before it's too late and you find yourself workin' over at T-W to make ends meet while he's in prison like his best friend."

Startled, Tara quickly raises her eyes to meet her father's, glinting in the low evening light. "Ran into Piney in front of the house the other morning," he says by way of explanation. "Can't say it surprised me much… but that don't mean you've got to wait around until it happens to _him_, you know?"

When she's silent in response, recalling the last time they'd had this conversation and how vehemently she'd protested, fought for him to see just how much she and Jackson were meant for each other, how their plans would ensure they'd both achieve the goals they'd always strived for… And finding herself empty, helpless during this conversation a year later- Rick shifts, uncomfortably, fingering the worn metal of the keys in his hand.

"Well I-"

"I should-"

They both speak at once, halting awkwardly, but falling into nervous laughter once it's clear they'd both been about to make their excuses. Then, her father's stepping forward, unexpectedly, enfolding her in his arms for the first time in over a year, the whiskey that's still on his breath mingling now with Barbasol and a faint whiff of cologne instead of stale cigarettes and staler coffee. He squeezes her tight, and it's something she hadn't known she'd needed over these past days and weeks until it happens; still, Tara swallows the tears that threaten and returns his embrace, burying her cheek in her father's chest like she did at eight years old.

When he pulls away, however, and gives her that same sad smile he'd given her last time he'd pled with her to leave Charming behind, he says something that dredges up just another part of herself she'd lost these past few weeks, reminds her of yet one more thing she'd forgotten completely about since she'd let the noise take over- and the tears finally spill over.

"Happy Birthday, Tara."

* * *

It's still early- still barely light in the early summer evening- when Jax finally pulls onto the worn bit of gravel that serves as the apartment's driveway, but he knows he's late in every other sense of the word. Disappointed the Cutlass isn't in its spot- but somehow simultaneously relieved to put what's sure to be a heated confrontation off for just a few more minutes- he scans the surrounding neighborhood for any signs of Angela, Koz, or anyone else who might interrupt the argument… well, more so the fervent reunion he hopes will follow.

Eager to put the bleak days and long nights that had preceded his homecoming behind him- push Mary's heartbroken face, miles and miles of road without Ope, and Piney's gruff self-flagellation into some compartment to be unearthed later, when he knows what the fuck to do with it all- Jax takes the steps two by two, hoping Tara hasn't been pissed off enough to actually lock him out.

He'd lost his key months ago, and had resorted to jimmying the lock open a few times before Tara had caught him one night on her way over from the clinic. She'd given him plenty of shit- teased him about doing something useful with his hands- then proceeded to drag him inside the apartment and rock his goddamn world until both of them forgot completely about his missing key. After that, though, she'd left the door unlocked for him, a testament to both his late hours and her absolute faith that nobody would mess with a SAMCRO old lady.

Not, Jax reminds himself, pausing at the top of the stairs, that she's an official old lady just yet- nor would she be any time soon if he keeps fucking up the way he just did. Barely able to keep himself in check after the news of Ope's arrest and subsequent five year bid, he'd been surviving mostly by keeping himself as detached and distracted as possible. And it had worked, for the most part- except he'd also wound up denying himself the only other thing that had ever truly provided him with any peace during the shittiest times in his life.

Still, he's not at all convinced he would've ever resurfaced had he buried himself in Tara the way he'd wanted, and Donna – not to mention Ope, Piney, hell, SAMCRO in general- deserved better, deserved a Son and not some broken pussy that couldn't handle the harsher realities of the life. He just hopes he hadn't pushed Tara too far, and the previous several days away from her had eaten at him even more than usual- which is saying something, since he fucking hates being away from her even during their rare rough patches.

Tentatively testing the doorknob, Jax is more relieved that he'll ever admit when it easily turns, swinging open to reveal the darkened rooms within. Closing the door behind him and dropping his backpack, he sags against the wood, indulging in another brief moment of peace before whatever may await.

Although she might not believe him, he'd been honest with her the last time he was in here- had fully intended to return the next day and assuage her concerns, her doubts, about their path over the next few years. Granted, he hadn't known exactly what that's going to look like- had planned to spend the majority of the ride finding some answers to give her, some compromise where he could find it- but he'd figured then, as he does now, that everything will work itself out. As long as they're together, there isn't anything they can't handle.

When they'd been denied a chance to see Ope until well after his transfer to either Stockton or Sacramento and Piney had announced his intentions to rejoin the rest of SAMCRO up north, however, he'd been reluctant, dreading both the long trip itself and the phone call he'd have to make to break his promise to Tara. He'd been almost relieved to find the phones out of order in the cheap motel they'd gotten the first night, and had flatout distracted himself into forgetting to call the second. By the time it became evident that club business wasn't going to be wrapping up any time soon, Jax had effectively convinced himself that he'd be better off having his particular conversation with her in person- where he could reach out and touch the soft skin he'd been denying himself for weeks, or maybe look into her soft green eyes and beg for forgiveness.

To help his case, he'd foregone club business altogether the afternoon of her birthday – though, he realizes now, he'd have been much better off begging off the last couple days of this trip altogether- and made the short trek up to Gig Harbor, where he'd once noticed this crazy little antiques and jewelry store that practically screamed Tara. He'd wanted to bring her by, though the opportunity had never really materialized- he just knows she'd have fallen in love with the old clapboard house and its extensive collection of first-edition books, rare medical and nautical artifacts, and of course the exquisitely ornate jewelry housed within.

Grinning to himself for what seems like the first time in weeks, Jax reaches into his kutte to pull out the small, simply wrapped box. It had been something like a homing beacon these past long hours, guiding him closer to home- to her. Granted, it wasn't at all what he'd walked into the shop expecting to buy, but the moment he'd laid eyes on it, he'd known that if anything was perfect for her- for _them_\- this was it. He's just hoping she doesn't take one look at him and shove his ass right back out the door.

Clutching the box and flicking on the light, however, Jax feels all hope drain out of him as he takes in the once-cozy apartment. The table and chairs, the pots and pans, the plush side chair, the bed, the quilt, the dresser- everything is still here, for the most part. Missing, however, is every last bit of what had made this Tara's place- her favorite, perfectly scuffed pair of Chucks no longer sit by the front door. The afghan her aunt had made her her first Christmas in San Diego is missing from the side chair. Gone are her knick-knacks, her books, the photos of the two of them, of Ope and Donna, of her mother. Her few pieces of jewelry no longer rest in the small decorative dish on the now-empty floating shelf they'd installed by the bed, and Jax suddenly knows without a doubt that he'll find the bathroom just as stark, just as empty as the rest of the place.

Turning slowly in his position just a few steps inside the door, he can see that her favorite mug is missing from its hook near the sink- Christ, even her schedule over at the clinic is absent from the ancient refrigerator; its as if every shred of her existence, every last memory of the life they'd shared here had suddenly been sucked into some void… right along with his goddamn heart.

Staggering just a bit, suddenly unable to think or even breathe with the walls of the apartment rushing inward the way they are, Jax manages to make his way to the bed, sinking down slowly, mirroring the way his gut seems to have sunk into his very shoes.

She's gone.

Everything he'd feared since the moment she came back into his life- everything he hadn't let himself consider since Ope had gotten locked up- had happened. She'd left him. Somehow, he knows she's gone much further than across town to her dad's or over at his mom's- and the realization is nothing short of crippling.

He wants to cry, scream, let out everything he'd been keeping locked away and this new, blinding pain he feels in his chest; wants to rage, send his foot through the dresser and his fists through the walls, splintering the wood and crushing the plaster, grinding them both to dust the way she'd just done to his heart. He wants to- Christ, he can't even let himself complete that thought, not with his piece resting heavily in its holster.

He does none of it. Instead, he blinks furiously against the tears that spill down his cheeks anyway, paying them no mind as his singular focus settles on the one piece of Tara that remains in the apartment.

An envelope, resting against what had been his pillow, her elegantly flowing script spelling out the name she'd hardly called him out loud in recent months.

_Jackson_

He attempts to swallow, though he can't force anything beyond the massive lump in his throat, attempts to slow his breathing, though that's fucking impossible with the giant hole- gone since Tara had returned months after Tommy's death- quickly returning to his chest… and extends a finger to graze the envelope, flinching back as if touching it might burn him.

When it doesn't, Jax seizes the envelope- pausing to run a finger over the embossed lines of his name, likely one of the last things she'd touched here. Then, before he loses his nerve, he swipes at his eyes with a sleeve, turns the envelope over, and rips it open with shaking hands. As he begins to read, a few of the last words she'd spoken to him form a persistent, haunting echo in his head:

_"Do you love me?"_

_"If I could stop, I would."_


	22. Epilogue

It’s dark when Tara stops for the first time- well, the first time that isn’t alongside the highway, willing herself to get it the hell together so she can do what she has to do. It’s no coincidence that Jackson comes to mind just now, either- Christ, he hasn’t left it for more than a few moments since she’d written him that letter… and for days, weeks, and years before then. 

_ Jackson, _

_ Right now, I’m imagining you sitting on the bed- our bed- and reading this letter, just as I’m sitting here writing it. It’s strange, but it makes me feel connected to you, knowing you’ll be reading my words in the same place I wrote them- maybe more connected than we’ve been for a while, now. _

The letter… She wonders if he’s read it yet, and savors the mental image of him reading her words- truly listening, taking them to heart- for a brief moment before the reminder of what she’d said and where she is now hits her with the force of a freight train. 

_ I love you, Jackson... I guess I should have said that first, because it’s the first thing I think about every day, and it's what I want you to remember long after you finish reading this letter- I love you. Really, I think I have since we were kids and you showed up on my doorstep with that macaroni necklace you made me for Valentine’s Day. _

_ I think I forgot what love was, after my mom died. I had friends, I had my aunt, even my dad- but I didn’t truly learn what it was like to really love someone- and have them love you in return- until I came back to Charming. Back to you. You’re my love, my safe place, and my best friend, and I never would have made it through these past few years without you. _

God, he’s going to hate her. It’s that thought, really, that hurts worse than anything else; she thought she could handle- _ is _ handling...rather poorly, but still- being apart from him if that’s what’s necessary, but to think that he’ll read what she wrote and hate the very thought of her… she shudders, despite the relative warmth of the evening.

_ But (remember that Bronte quote? “In this imperfect world, there’s always a but”)... I’ve lost myself, Baby- I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m lost and I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to get myself back. I know you’re hurting even if you won’t admit it- but Opie was my friend too, and when I needed you most, you couldn’t even look at me. You have no idea how much I needed just to hear your voice or feel your touch. We’ve always been better together, and you shutting me out made me realize just how much of my existence depends on you._

Tara’s not sure what, exactly, drew her here; the place had been unassuming enough from the outside- one of many establishments just like it she’d seen on her journey so far. The inside, too, is a pretty standard facsimile of the only other tattoo shop she’d visited, with one distinct difference- there are no reapers or circle-A’s scattered among the sketches tacked to the wall, no photos of the owner with men clad in black leather. It’s somehow perfect and altogether lacking at once. 

_ These past few weeks have shown me that my entire life can’t be wrapped up in someone else- I don’t know myself when you’re not with me, and I don’t know how to live in a world that doesn’t include you. And that’s what scares me more than anything, Jackson- the thought of you in prison, or dead, and how I’d survive without you... I haven’t been able to get it out of my head these past few weeks. My dad lost himself when my mom died, and he never truly recovered. If I stay in Charming, if I don’t build something for myself, I’m terrified I’ll wind up like him. _

“Are you sure this is what you want?” the owner, a weathered-looking Vietnam vet that looks like he’s seen a few days on a bike (she doesn’t ask) wants to know, eyeing her swollen, red nose, puffy eyes, and tear-streaked face nervously. _ Sure? _ Christ, it’s been a long time since she was sure of anything- but if there’s one thing she _ does _ know, it’s that she feels a pull like she’s not experienced since… since _ him _. And it’s no coincidence it’s led her to this shop, or this particular piece. So, she nods, he shrugs- and just like that, the deal is sealed. 

_All the plans we’ve made, all the compromises we’ve agreed on so we can be together… up until now, I’ve kept every one. But like I told you the day you left, you made promises, too- to your club, to Opie, and to me- and you’ve kept them all, except the ones that would keep us together. You’re a beautiful, loyal man, and I think part of what I love so much about you is that you’re the truest friend, and the most loyal brother and Son anyone could ever ask for. _

“Lift your shirt out of the way, darlin’.” Though she’d fucking hated the term and its flippant, impersonal nature whenever Jax had applied it to her, its still a word she associates with him- well, all of them- and she wonders if she’ll ever hear it again without the painful twisting thing her heart’s doing right now. Still, she plasters on a false smile- anything to quell the uneasy glances coming her way from the shop owner- lifts her shirt, and lets him get to work. 

_ So I’m not asking you to break your other promises, Jackson, and I never will- I know firsthand that it's an impossible choice, and I don’t wish that on anyone. I’m writing you this letter because I didn’t trust myself not to beg you to come with me, and I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to walk away. So, in some ways, these past days with no contact from you were the push I needed to choose myself, for once... even though it- and you- hurt me more than you can know. _

She’d been present when Jax had gotten his ink for Tommy and had witnessed the pride and the satisfaction burning in his eyes as he honored his little brother. Still, she hadn’t fully understood until now- how the stinging morphs into a slow and steady burn, how it rises to meet the much more intimate pain in her chest until finally, what’s in her heart is transcribed on her body. 

_ All I ask is that you take care of yourself, Jackson. Be smart, be safe, and don’t let the club be your whole life. You deserve happiness, and I hope you can find it, even if it doesn’t include me. _

_ You’ll never know how much I love you, because I don’t have the words to describe it- not here, not ever. So I’ll leave you with some from WH Auden: _

_ He was my North, my South, my East and West, _

_ My working week and my Sunday rest, _

_ My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; _

_ I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong._

And as the buzz of the tattoo machine continues and she grits her teeth against the pain, she realizes she’s surviving this… maybe someday she’ll be able to survive without him. _  
_

_Maybe someday, the universe will lead us back to one another- I’ll be hoping and praying every day that it does. _

_ With all my love, _ _  
_ _ Tara_

She just doesn’t want to. 

_ Jax’s suspicions had been confirmed- reading her letter hadn’t helped answer any of the million and one questions swamping his mind; where is she? Is she okay? When is she coming back? In fact, all it had done- besides add another few logs to the currently roaring bonfire that is his guilt and self-hate- is raise even more questions. He’d been momentarily relieved- elated even- to read Tara’s words of love; then, as the letter had progressed, it became clear she wasn’t sure how long that love would survive outside of Charming, away from him. _   
  
_White heat blinds him momentarily- though whether it’s rage or the crippling mixture of guilt, grief and shame, he’s not sure. He crumples the letter, shoves both it and the small box his oblivious, optimistic self had bought so recently, off the edge of the bed, wanting the searing truths and useless supplication as far away from him as possible. Suddenly exhausted, all the fight draining out of him, Jax sags onto the mattress, eschewing his own pillow and curling into Tara’s, letting her scent fill his nostrils. Here, alone in her- their- apartment, he feels further away from her than he had in weeks, despite the fact that she’d claimed the opposite in her letter just now. Tomorrow, he’d rage, demand answers, decide what the fuck his life is going to be without her in it._

_ Tonight though… Jackson Teller can only cry. _

****A/N- we’re at about 276,000 words, a little less than Into the Black, but I ended that story with a letter that held a lot of significance to Jax, and I thought it fitting that this story end with another. I never promised you guys a happy ending to this particular story, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t deliver one. However… their story isn’t over- though the next (and final) installment promises to be shorter and structured a bit differently. Where has Tara gone (and, what tattoo did she get?) Will Jax go after her? Or, will she stay gone for ten years as she did in canon? Let me know your thoughts/suspicions/hopes. Look for part 3 soon, and maybe the odd one shot here and there. As always, thank you so much for reading me and sticking with me these past two years. **


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